Regret and Redemption
by Luxio Nyx
Summary: In the aftermath of battle, hearts will be broken and strength tested as the power of the Ring begins to rise. Still suffering from the effects of the Arkenstone's theft, Thorin and Bilbo struggle to overcome the evil that has risen in their midst. Retelling of BOFA and LOTR set during the Hobbit.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey! So, this is my first attempt at the Hobbit fandom… And I really should be working on my other fanfics but this idea wouldn't really leave me alone until I wrote it down, soooo~ Anyways, please please pleaaaasseee let me know what you guys think and feel free to attack me with Orcrist if I make some of the characters too OOC (or, you know, Sting… Sting might be a little less painful, actually, since Orcrist is apparently huge…)**

**Also, quick note: I do not own the Hobbit or anything remotely associated with it. I do own a copy of the book, but I don't really think that counts… Also, the characters are definitely more movie-verse, but I tried to keep some things close to the book… although, we're going to ignore the fact that the entrance to Erebor isn't really blocked in this, and the fact that the forces of Dain and the orcs are closer to Erebor than they were supposed to be in the book.**

_ "Take him, if you wish him to live; and no friendship of mine goes with him."_

Thorin Oakenshield stared up at the towering iron throne that had been his grandfather's symbol of power, his icy-blue eyes carefully avoiding the large, gaping black hole that had once held the Arkenstone within its golden clutches. He had hated the hole when the Company had first made its way into the throne room of Erebor; then, the hole had only been another reminder of the home that he had lost and the people that he had failed, a reminder that filled his weary body with a fresh rush of determination that had sent him into the nearest treasure room, his strong fingers tingling with anticipation at the prospect of restoring the another piece of Thror's legacy to his ruined kingdom under the mountain.

He could barely look at the hole now, not when the searing hatred that had once dominated all of his emotions towards that particular area had morphed into grief, betrayal, and regret.

The hole didn't fill him with determination now.

_"Farewell! We may meet again as friends!"_

The dwarf king flinched and turned away from the throne, struggling to dispel the images of kind dark eyes filled with sadness, eyes that had once made the dwarf's heart melt with a warmth that he had almost forgotten through years of loneliness and hardship. For a brief moment, Thorin allowed Bilbo Baggins to reign over his thoughts, his lips quirking into a half-hearted, bitter smile at the memory of the hobbit's final, cautious smile before he had been driven away, his tiny body half-hidden by the swirling folds of Gandalf's cloak.

"Friends," he murmured to the absent creature. "You were never my friend, Halfling."

*Bagginshield*Bagginshield*Bagginshield*

Bilbo wasn't the first one to hear the screams.

_That_ gruesome honor belonged to an elf whose name he hadn't bothered to remember. The stoic, pale-faced being had been one of the five or so who had been assigned to keep watch over the northern edge of Thranduil and Bard's camp the day after the hobbit's exile from Erebor. Bilbo couldn't remember why he had decided to follow them- he couldn't remember anything, really, except for the fury in the dwarf king's eyes as he dangled the hobbit over the rocks of Erebor and ordered him to leave. Bilbo flinched at the memory and instinctively leaned towards the nearest elf, causing the taller being to recoil slightly in surprise and confusion. The hobbit sighed heavily and flashed his companion an apologetic half-smile before turning back in the direction of camp.

_There's no point in staying here with them_, he reflected dully. _No point in staying anywhere, really… I don't belong here anymore._

_I don't belong anywhere… Not now._

Thorin's face swam across the hobbit's thoughts for a brief moment, his stern features softened by a rare smile. Bilbo's lips twitched despite himself and he wondered vaguely where the memory had come from before he remembered that it didn't matter anymore. He would never see that smile again…

One of the elves cried out behind him. Bilbo whirled around just as the remaining elves reached for the bows that had been slung across their backs, his heart pounding in his chest with a sudden flash of foreboding. The hobbit hurried to stand beside the line of tense elves, his eyes and ears straining against the dim light of the forest to catch a glimpse of whatever had alarmed his current companions.

Flashes of grey flesh and dark fur appeared between the trees that lined the very edges of Mirkwood. Bilbo shuddered as the piercing shrieks and wails of hundreds of orcs, goblins, and wargs reached his ears, his small hand going instinctively to the small sword that had been strapped to his hip. A cool, firm hand settled on the hobbit's shoulder and roughly shoved him behind the line of elves, causing the smaller being to yelp in surprised protest. The elf that had touched him barely spared the hobbit a glance, his gleaming blue eyes focused with a frightening intensity on the group of several dozen wargs and orcs that had started to approach them through the trees.

"Warn Thranduil," the elf murmured before taking off towards the attackers, his slim silver swords already drawn. Within moments, two of the other guards had joined their companion, while the remaining two guards drew their bows and aimed.

Bilbo bit his lip and started to run back to where he had last seen the elven king, only to freeze in place moments later, his wide brown eyes locked on the army of grey, black, and white shadows that were continuing through the forest without a second glance towards the five elves that were struggling against a their comrades. Bilbo frowned and started to follow the larger group with his eyes, his mind reeling as it struggled to figure out where the creatures were headed.

_ I need to tell Bard_, he reminded himself. _Bard and Thranduil will know where they are going…_

The hobbit took off towards the camp, his frantic heartbeats pulsing like drums in his ears. He vaguely heard several men call out to him in surprise as he barreled past them, but he paid them no mind. Within moments, the large tent that had been erected to house Bard and Thranduil loomed up in front of him, its entrance guarded by a small horde of stern-faced elves and men. Bilbo shoved past the guards without hesitation, his fingers clawing at the firm hands that tried to restrain him.

Bard glanced up in surprise when the hobbit burst into the tent, his tanned, calloused fingers still splayed across a map that had been spread across the table placed in the middle of the area. Thranduil didn't look up from the map, although Bilbo thought he saw the elf king's shoulders tense slightly at the interruption.

"Bilbo," Bard greeted cautiously, his dark eyes widening as they took in the smaller man's flushed features and panicked expression. "What-?"

"Orcs," Bilbo gasped. "Wargs, goblins… An army of them, heading north."

Bard shoved away from the table and hurried to the hobbit's side, his hands reaching instinctively for the bow that he had left near the tent's entrance.

"Wait," Thranduil called quietly. "How do you know this?"

"A group of them attacked the guards that you had set up along the northern edge of camp," Bilbo reported hastily. "The rest kept moving through the forest… I don't know where they're going."

The elf frowned and finally looked up from the map, his expression vaguely troubled.

"How many of them attacked the guards?" Thranduil demanded.

"I don't know- more than forty," Bilbo guessed.

The elf king's frown deepened, his spindly fingers twitching slightly towards the weapons that Bilbo knew were hidden within his robes.

"We need to get out of here," the elf king said slowly. "Too many of my men went with Legolas to get reinforcements from Mirkwood, and the men of Lakewood are not equipped to hold off a small army of orcs."

Bard visibly bristled at the elf's comment and opened his mouth to protest, only to stiffen when an alarmed shout reached them from the middle of the camp.

"Looks like some of the orcs got past your guards," the bowman growled. "Do you think that the rest of the army will come back?"

The elven king shrugged and started to make his way towards the entrance to the tent, twin swords already clutched in his slim hands.

"We are not their ultimate target," he murmured. "But… if their intention is to surround Erebor and lay siege to it, any of our survivors will inevitably become targets."

Bard swore and shrugged a quiver full of arrows over his head, his feet already taking him out of the tent. Bilbo followed the bowman with Thranduil at his side, his brown eyes wide with concern at the mention of Erebor.

"Wait," he gasped as the human bowman darted immediately into the bristling throng of men that were now struggling against a screaming mass of orcs and wargs. Thranduil paused for a moment to glance down at the hobbit, his brow furrowed in tension and disapproval.

"There is no time to wait, Master Baggins," he said quietly. "The women and children of Laketown need to be defended and evacuated before the army can return."

"Where else is the army heading?" Bilbo demanded. "They weren't going towards Erebor when I last saw them… And if they were, the quickest way to reach the mountain is through our camp."

The elf king spared the hobbit a quick, unreadable glance before he threw himself towards an orc that had broken past the line of defenders, his gleaming swords slashing easily through the creature's grey skin.

"There is a small army of Dwarves from the Iron Hills marching towards Erebor as we speak," the elf called flatly as he kicked the orc's limp body away. "I told Bard that Thorin Oakenshield had probably called them in in an effort to avoid paying us the ransom for the Arkenstone. If the orcs wish to surround Erebor, they will inevitably come into contact with the army of Dain."

Bilbo paled and hurried after the elf king, Sting slashing into the unprotected thigh of another orc before the hobbit could really think about what he was doing. Thranduil finished the wounded orc with another blow from his swords and spared the hobbit a pleased nod, his attention already moving to his next enemy.

"If the army reaches the army of the Iron Hills," Bilbo screamed over the chaos of orc screams and battle cries. "Will the dwarves… will they be better off than we are?"

The Elvenking stopped and shot Bilbo another glance, his eyes softening with a strange mixture of pity and distaste.

"The forces of the Iron Hills are large," he remarked coolly. "But not large enough… especially if they care caught by surprise."

Bilbo stumbled away from the elf, barely even noticing when another orc was slaughtered barely a foot away from him. The hobbit glanced around at the roiling, bloody chaos that had once been a camp, a small sigh of relief breaking through his lips when he saw that most of the orcs and wargs had already been killed. The sigh caught in his throat at the sight of the mangled bodies of elves and men that had been scattered across the blood-soaked ground, his mind suddenly flooded with images of Thorin's agonized face as he was lifted into the air by Azog's warg and thrown violently onto the rocks.

_"…if they are caught by surprise."_

How long would it take the dwarves to realize what was happening when the army of orcs reached them? How many would be killed before they could even think to defend themselves?

How many would die?

Bilbo muttered something that would have given many hobbit lasses heart attacks and cast another, frantic gaze around the camp, his sharp eyes searching desperately for a sign of the bowman.

"Bard!" he yelled when he caught sight of the dark-haired warrior.

The other man whirled around and hurried to Bilbo's side, his tanned skin covered in dirt and dried blood.

"Bilbo, we need to start moving," the bowman said hastily. "Where's Gandalf? There's a valley not far from here where we can regroup and wait for reinforcements-."

"Go back to Erebor," Bilbo interrupted hastily. He flinched at the look of open shock and disbelief that the human sent his way and forced himself to continue. "Please, just listen to me. Thorin isn't himself but… he won't turn away wounded and he won't leave women and children to die." _At least, I hope he won't…_ "Give him the Arkenstone if you need to, just convince him to let your forces inside the mountain."

"And Thranduil?" Bard pointed out sharply. "Your king will never let an elf inside of their mountain."

"He might," Bilbo argued desperately. "Please, there's no other place where you can defend yourselves against an army, and Mirkwood is too far away."

"Thranduil said that Erebor was the orc army's target," Bard reminded him stonily. "What if we just ran to Mirkwood while our enemies are distracted by their siege on the mountain?"

Bilbo flinched at the thought and flashed the man a fierce glare. He didn't have time for this… the more he waited, the closer the orc army was getting to Thorin's kin…

"Do what you must, then," he snapped. "But if you do go to Erebor, tell Thorin-." The hobbit broke off with a small shudder, his mind flooded with images of the dwarf king's furious gaze. He bit his lip and turned away, his hands clenching tightly around the hilt of his sword. "Tell him I'm sorry, for everything…"

"Where are you going?" Bard demanded, his voice rising in surprise and concern when the hobbit began to make his way out of the camp.

"I need to warn the dwarves of the Iron Hills," Bilbo shouted back. "They need to know what's coming for them."

"Bilbo, the orcs will already be attacking them by the time you reach their camp," Bard snapped. "You won't be able to save them."

Bilbo ignored the bowman and started to run, his fingers slipping into his pocket to fasten around the cold metal ring that he had taken from Gollum, images of Thorin's smile flashing through his mind.

_I'm sorry, Thorin…_

*Bagginshield*Bagginshield*Bagginshield*

"Thorin!"

Thorin jerked in surprise at the sound of his eldest nephew's voice and slowly lowered Orcrist to the ground, his other hand still wrapped around the soiled cloth that he had been using to clean the elven blade. Fíli and Kíli, along with Bifur, Bofur, Bombur, and Ori, had refused to speak to him since Bilbo's exile, and even Balin had become noticeably cooler in his interactions with the dwarf king.

"Fíli?" he called cautiously.

The younger dwarf shifted uneasily in the entrance to the ruined chambers that Thorin had claimed as his own, his hazel eyes wary beneath his golden hair. The heir to the throne of Erebor quickly glanced down at his feet when he met his uncle's gaze, his shoulders tense.

"Dwalin and Ori said that the men and women of Laketown are coming up to the walls," he reported tersely. "Along with about a dozen elves. They want to know if we will provide them with sanctuary."

Thorin frowned and got to his feet, wondering if he had misunderstood.

"The men and elves who robbed us of the Arkenstone and threatened us with war are asking us for sanctuary?" he repeated.

Fíli stiffened at the mention of the stone that had caused them so much grief but nodded. Thorin stared at his nephew, his mind reeling.

"What do they want sanctuary _from_?" he demanded.

"They said that an orc army attacked them before moving north," Fíli explained slowly. "Thranduil apparently believes that they will come back, and Bard insists that it will be safer for all of us if we create an alliance."

"Oh, is that all he wants?" Thorin spat. _They probably just want our gold again…_ he added savagely, choosing to ignore the memory of Bilbo's tearful, indignant face as the hobbit explained that he had only taken the Arkenstone to avoid war.

"Thorin," Fíli whispered fervently. "Many of them are wounded, and they have women and children with them. We can't leave them out there to fend for themselves against an orc attack."

"How do we know that there was an orc attack?" Thorin shot back. "More importantly, how do we know that these orcs will actually come back?"

"Send a raven to Dain, then, and ask him if he's seen anything," his nephew snapped. "We'll keep an eye on the men and elves until we know that they're telling the truth, but _please_, Thorin, just let them in."

"A true king would not let his enemies inside of his home-," Thorin began.

"A true king wouldn't leave innocent people to _die_," Fíli snapped. "Bilbo is with them! Are you really willing to sit back and watch him be killed after everything that he did? The men of Laketown gave us food and shelter after our escape from the elves; Bard killed Smaug, for Aule's sake! Would you leave them to die because you're too paranoid to remember the kindness that others have shown to you?"

Thorin was silent. For one brief, savage moment, the dwarf king was tempted to ignore his nephew, to order his company to lock their doors against the thieving, dishonest men of Laketown and their elven allies. Then he thought of Bilbo, of the small, tentative smile that the hobbit had given him when he promised to help the dwarves take back their homeland, the fierce expression on his face as he threw himself at Azog's soldier, and the wild, desperate happiness in his gentle brown eyes when he had first found Thorin's cell in Thranduil's kingdom.

"He would have let them in without hesitation," he mused quietly.

"He let us in," Fíli reminded his uncle, not even bothering to ask the king who he was thinking of. "And our situation was much better."

Thorin sighed heavily and ran a hand through his hair.

"Let them in," he said finally, his heart clenching painfully when he saw the obvious surprise in Fíli's expression.

_Am I that far gone?_ Thorin wondered grimly. He forced himself to follow the younger dwarf into the ruined vestibule of Erebor, his hands still clenched around the hilt of Orcrist. He stopped in the shadows of the hall, allowing Fíli to leave his side and join his brother at the entrance.

Ori, Dori, and Oin had already started to help the men of Laketown carry their wounded into the mountain, while Balin and Gloin were engaged in a tense conversation with Bard and Thranduil in the far corner of the room. Thorin wondered dimly why Fíli had even bothered asking for his permission to allow the refugees into Erebor when it was obvious that the remaining members of the company already decided to let them in.

Bofur and Bifur slipped in and out of the small crowd of refugees, their dark eyes sweeping across the weary travelers with a peculiar sense of urgency. Thorin frowned and started to search through the crowds as well, looking for a glimpse of Bilbo. Would the hobbit try to hide from him after their last encounter? The thought made the king's heart clench again and he pushed away from the shadows, immediately drawing the attention of the other inhabitants of the hall.

Balin and Gloin hastily made their way to the king's side, followed closely by Bard and Thranduil. Thorin offered the elf king and the bowman a curt nod, his fingers flexing instinctively around Orcrist's hilt.

"My nephew told me that you had been attacked by orcs," he muttered.

Bard nodded slowly. "He told you the truth. We were attacked earlier today by a fraction of their forces. The remainder of the army continued north, although we fear that they will return."

"North?" Thorin repeated, his muscles tensing with the first hints of dread. "Dain's army is coming down from the north."

"Indeed," Thranduil remarked dryly. "That was Master Baggins's concern as well."

Thorin flinched at the mention of the hobbit and glanced back towards the rest of the refugees, his azure eyes combing the bloodied, dirt-encrusted ranks of the crowd for a sign of Bilbo's auburn curls.

"Why did you decide to come here?" he asked, only half-interested in the answer.

"Bilbo suggested it to them," Balin informed him dryly. "Apparently, your hobbit still has faith in your honor and hospitality."

Thorin's frown deepened at the older dwarf's tone and decided not to comment on his friend's words.

"And where _is_ the hobbit?" he demanded impatiently.

Bard hesitated, his brow furrowing with a sudden unease that immediately made Thorin regret his question.

"He went north to warn the dwarves of the Iron Hills about the orc army," the bowman said finally.

Thorin stared at the bowman, unable to comprehend the man's words.

"He went…. Alone?" he said finally. "You let him go by himself?"

Bard flinched at the expression on the dwarves' faces but nodded stiffly, his features set.

"I had to get my people to safety," he stated firmly.

Thorin swore and stormed away from the man, his eyes locked on the darkened valley that spread out beyond the doors of Erebor. Strong hands locked around his arms and jerked the dwarf king back. Thorin snarled and jerked violently against his captor, another curse escaping his lips when a second pair of hands joined the first.

"And what do you think _you're_ doin', Thorin?" Dwalin demanded roughly.

"Dain and Dis are out there," Thorin snapped. "And Bilbo. I'm going to help them."

"Aye, without any armor and armed only with a shield," Nori muttered dryly. "The orcs will run when they see you."

Thorin glared at the two dwarfs and struggled against their grip again, a low hiss of frustration breaking through his lips when his captors refused to budge.

"Let me _go!_" the dwarf king snarled. "So help me-."

"Thorin!" Kíli's voice called down from the wall. "More people are approaching!"

"Are they men of yours?" Balin demanded from Bard and Thranduil.

The bowman shook his head and glanced back at the elf king, who shrugged.

"I doubt that my son would have been able to make his way back from Mirkwood this soon," the elf mused.

"The banners are from the Iron Hills!" Bombur's voice added excitedly.

Thorin snarled and threw himself against Dwalin and Nori's arms, a low growl of triumph rising in his throat when the shocked dwarves released him. He ran out of Erebor without a backwards glance, Fíli and Gloin close behind him.

And army of shadows stormed towards him out of the darkness, their muddy armor and bloodstained weapons gleaming dully in the fading light of the setting sun. Thorin felt the breath rush out of his lungs when he saw how many of the shadows were being supported or carried by their companions and pushed himself faster, only to be easily outstripped by Fíli. The younger dwarf plunged into the exhausted mass of running dwarfs, his voice raised in a frantic call for Dis. Thorin flinched and struggled to keep up with his heir, his eyes widening when a familiar form detached herself from the crowd and ran to meet Fíli half-way, her loud, rough voice carrying easily above the tumult of the crowd.

"Fíli!" Dis cried, her arms wrapping tightly around the golden-haired prince for a brief moment before she pushed him ahead of her. "You daft little fool, what are you doing? Get your arse back into Erebor!"

"Dis!" Thorin yelled, immediately grabbing his younger sister's attention.

"Thorin!" Dis called back. "Is this foolishness your doing?"

"The orcs aren't far behind us, Thorin," Dain's voice called from somewhere over the dwarf king's shoulder.

"How many are there?" Thorin demanded.

"We cut their numbers in half, but I'm willing to bet that there are close to a hundred remaining," Dain reported breathlessly. "We'll have a better chance of holding them off in Erebor."

Thorin nodded and hurried forward to help Gloin support one of the wounded, his eyes searching the mass of dwarves for a smaller, slimmer being.

"Where's the Halfling?" he yelled.

"I haven't seen 'im," Gloin grunted.

Thorin frowned and forced himself to keep moving even as a cold, crippling fear began to settle into his bones. The dwarf king's lips quirked up into a reluctant smile when he saw a frantic Kíli waiting at the entrance of Erebor, his hazel eyes wild beneath his dark hair.

"Mother! Fíli!" he cried.

"Kíli!" Thorin yelled before anyone else could answer. "Go with Bifur and Bofur to gather the armor. Tell Dwalin and Nori to secure the gates after we've all gone through."

Kíli nodded and darted back into the mountain moments before the first of the dwarves hurried through the entrance, their wide shoulders bent and heaving with fear and exhaustion. Thorin hastily shifted the weight of the injured dwarf onto his shoulders and motioned for Gloin to help with the others, his blue eyes locking immediately on Bard and Thranduil the moment he ran into Erebor.

"Bowman!" he yelled. "Elf!"

Thranduil raised his eyebrows but hurried with Bard to the dwarf king's side, his lips curling in faint distaste at the number of dwarves that were now crowded around him.

"Get all of your archers up onto the walls," Thorin ordered the two. "I will send all of the dwarf archers that we can spare in a moment."

The man and the elf nodded and hurried to organize their men, their eyes flickering with the tiniest hint of worry towards the crowd of dwarves that were still pouring into the mountain.

"Will you be able to get them all in before the orcs are upon us?" Bard called.

Thorin flashed the bowman a deadly glare and nodded before he darted back to his sister's side, his shoulders lifting slightly when he saw that she was with Dain. Fíli had already left his mother's side to join his brother, his golden head flashing in and out of view among the crowds as he hurried to distribute weapons and armor to the members of Thorin's Company.

"How far away are the orcs?" Thorin demanded.

"Four or five miles," Dain replied immediately. The king of the Iron Hills was just as filthy as many of his soldiers, but his eyes were filled with the fire of battle as he met his cousin's gaze. "How many of my men do you need up at the walls?"

"As many as you think we can spare," Thorin replied immediately. "The more orcs we can kill from a distance, the better."

Dain Ironfoot nodded and disappeared into the ranks of his men, his voice rising easily among the tumult as he called out orders. Thorin turned immediately to his sister, his voice faltering for a moment when he saw the sadness in her eyes.

"You mentioned a hobbit," she murmured. "Before we entered the mountain, you were asking about a hobbit."

"Yes," Thorin agreed cautiously. He waited for the dwarf woman to say more, the blood draining from his cheeks when his sister merely looked away. "What happened?"

"He shortly after the orcs began their attack," she whispered. "At least, I think he did… No one knows exactly how or when he made his way into our camp. He threw himself at an orc that had overpowered me and told me to run. I ignored him, of course, and continued to fight but he shoved me away before I could even kill another orc. Such a stubborn little thing."

Thorin smiled despite himself. "That sounds like something that he would do."

His smile only deepened the sadness in Dis's eyes. The dwarf woman hesitated before reaching out to clasp his free hand in hers, her lips trembling ever-so-slightly.

"He told me to go," she whispered. "He told me that my boys needed me… I don't know how he even knew who I was, but… He told me to go."

Thorin stiffened at his sister's words and glanced back towards the entrance of Erebor, his fingers curling tightly around Dis's when he saw that the gates had already been shut by Dwalin, Nori, and several of Dain's own men.

"You left him behind," he guessed flatly.

"He disappeared," Dis sighed. "I'm sorry, brother…"

Thorin shook his head and pulled away from her just as Balin appeared by his side, his arms full of chainmail. Thorin wordlessly allowed the older dwarf to help him into the armor, stubbornly refusing to dwell on Dis's words. Bilbo was stubborn, unpredictable, and strong. He would survive.

He had to.

**Okay, so, looks like this is going to be a little bit more than a oneshot…. Please review and let me know what you think so far!**


	2. Chapter 2

It was a known fact among the hobbits of the shire that the Baggins of Bag-End, despite their comfortable lifestyle, were particularly skilled at dodging things. Bilbo had always assumed that it was a necessary trait, developed after years of dodging pesky neighbors and distant kin. Combined with the natural speed that all hobbits possessed, Bilbo had never truly doubted his ability to run away from something if he really put his mind to it.

Of course, that was before he had gone and volunteered himself as a burglar for a company of thirteen daft dwarves on a suicidal mission to reclaim a thrice-damned mountain from a dragon.

A warg darted out of the shadows to Bilbo's right, its rider barely missing the exposed skin at Bilbo's neck as the hobbit instinctively rolled out of the way. Bilbo bit back the shriek that wanted to burst from his lips and forced himself to keep running, Sting flashing like blue lightning in the darkness cast by Mirkwood's cursed trees. A deep, aching pain had begun to form in the hobbit's lungs, reminding the small creature that he couldn't keep running forever. Eventually, he would have to stop.

_At least his sister is safe_, Bilbo reminded himself faintly, his thoughts barely audible to his own mind over the frantic pulse of blood in his ears. _At least I spared him that pain…_

Another warg darted out of the shadows, its rider following almost immediately from the opposite direction as Bilbo threw himself out of the beast's way. The hobbit barely managed to parry the orc's blade with Sting, his arms shaking infinitesimally with the effort of pushing the larger weapon away. The orc seemed to smile at his weakness and lashed out again, a savage roar of triumphant breaking through its nonexistent lips when the serrated edge sliced through Bilbo's ragged tunic. Bilbo staggered and stared at the small rose of scarlet that had begun to bloom across the stained blue fabric, his lungs heaving in a sudden, frantic effort to draw in oxygen. Before he could think, the hobbit was moving again, Sting slashing almost absently into the orc's shins. The dark creature howled in pain and reached out to grab the hobbit, its thick fingers closing around the bottom of Bilbo's tunic. The hobbit jerked backwards in shock and lashed out with Sting once more, barely even sparing a glance for the bloodstained piece of fabric that was cut free as he pushed forward. Bilbo's fingers fumbled for the cold metal ring that he had slipped into his pocket, his wide eyes frantically sweeping the surrounding trees for any sign of the orcs.

A high, screeching laugh reached the hobbit's ears barely a moment before he felt the ring press into the pads of his calloused fingers. Bilbo's eyes widened in horrified recognition as he frantically slipped the ring onto his middle finger, his silent feet propelling him into the nearest bush just as a loud, screaming army of goblins came into view.

"Where'd 'e go?" one of the creatures whined, its beady eyes sweeping the trees for any sign of the hobbit.

One of its fellows shrugged and shoved the other goblin forward with the edge of its sword, its lips curled into a savage grin beneath its rough, ugly armor.

"There'll be plenty more where 'e came from anyways," the goblin swore. "They'll soon regret what they did to our king!"

Loud, horrible screams greeted the goblin's statement and the army marched past, oblivious to the invisible hobbit that had collapsed in the shrubs barely a foot away from them. Bilbo gritted his teeth, barely daring to breathe for fear that someone would hear him.

_Go to them…_

Bilbo stiffened, his wide eyes flickering down to the ring that suddenly seemed to be burning on his finger.

_GO. Let them see you… They will let you live. They will make you king when they see your power. You can make Thorin pay. You can make him regret what he did to you. You can have him as you've only dreamed of having him… Just go to the goblins. Let them take you to the orcs, and you will be rewarded._

Bilbo shuddered and wrapped his free hand around the nearest branch, his chest heaving with screams that the ring was ordering him to let loose. He rolled slightly to bury his face into the grass, his whimpers of pain at the sudden movement muffled by the decaying vegetation. The ring grew louder as the last goblins marched by, urging the hobbit to follow its orders and alert the creatures to his presence. Bilbo ignored the voice and forced himself to think of the dwarves, _his_ dwarves, even as the burning ring of his finger started to fade into the dark, numbing haze of unconsciousness. He thought of Bofur's gentle, encouraging smile, of the identical gleams of mischief that appeared in Fíli and Kíli's eyes every time one of their plans succeeded, of Balin's quiet wisdom and Dwalin's gruff humor, of Bombur's glee at the sight of food and Bifur's excited, nonsensical babbling.

He thought of Thorin, of the rare smiles that the dwarven king had allowed the hobbit to see during their travels and the warmth of his embrace on the Carrock.

_I'm sorry, Thorin_, Bilbo mused, his thoughts barely audible over the angry, insistent screams of the ring. _I hope that you can forgive me someday…_

*Bagginshield*Bagginshield*Bagginshield*

Fíli was the first to see the approaching army.

"Aule help us," he whispered, his hand reaching out to clasp his brother's shoulder in search of a familiar comfort.

"Fee?" Kíli murmured back, his dark eyes widening in silent alarm. "What is it? What do you see?"

Fíli merely shook his head, his muscles tensing when a strong hand touched his back.

"What do you see, Fíli?" Thorin asked, his voice deceptively calm as he struggled to follow his heir's gaze.

"Azog's army approaches," the young dwarf sighed. "And he is joined by legions of goblins."

Thorin nodded stiffly and strode back to his previous place at the center of the balcony, leaving his nephews alone in the middle of Dain's archers. Dain, Dwalin, Balin, and Dís looked up expectantly as he approached, their calloused hands curled tightly around the hilts of gleaming swords and battle axes. Beside them, Thranduil and Bard didn't bother to turn away from the horizon, their bows already notched with arrows.

"Fíli says that the orcs are near," Thorin reported flatly. "Their numbers have been boosted with goblins."

"Do ye think they're the same ones that we met in the Misty Mountains?" Dwalin grunted, his hazel eyes sweeping across the plains in search of the army.

Thorin shrugged, choosing to ignore the questioning glances that Dís and Dain were now sending his way.

"Doesn't matter," he muttered. "Are the archers ready?"

"They will wait until the enemy is close before they fire," Thranduil replied.

Thorin bit back a sharp comment and shot the elvenking a glare, his gaze softening slightly when he caught sight of Bard's apologetic half-smile.

"We'll be ready for them, your highness," the bowman assured him.

"Thorin," Thorin corrected him. "There are no kings in battle, only brothers fighting besides each other in the name of what we hold most dear."

The human blinked slowly in surprise and offered the dwarf king a silent bow. Thorin smiled thinly and bowed in return, his sharp blue eyes flickering back to the king of Mirkwood to see how Thranduil had taken the statement. The elf king offered him a brief glance half-filled with contempt, his thin lips curved in the faintest of smiles.

"They are coming closer, dwarf," Thranduil muttered. "Your men should be making their way out of the mountain now."

"And your men?" Balin called politely.

The elf smirked.

"They will follow your orders," he assured them silkily. "So long as your archers follow mine."

Thorin and Dain merely bowed. With a final huff and a firm slap to Thorin's shoulder, Dain turned to leave the balcony, with Dís and Balin close behind him. Dwalin remained by his king's side, his twin battle-axes strapped firmly onto his broad shoulders.

"So, how long are we goin' ta stay up here and share air with the elves?" he asked casually.

Thorin shrugged and glanced over his shoulder, his muscles tensing when he saw Dís wave her hand in a final farewell to her sons.

"Azog will be too focused on me to notice Dain's forces coming around from behind," he muttered. "I need to give him as much of a chance as I can, especially now that the numbers are against us."

Dwalin nodded slowly, his fists slowly clenching and unclenching at his sides.

"Are the lads coming with us when we do go down?" he wondered.

Thorin smiled humorlessly. "I doubt that I could convince them to stay… Besides, Fíli isn't an archer. The only reason he isn't with Dís right now is because Kíli wouldn't be able to bear knowing that he was on the battlefield alone."

"Ori is going out there," Dwalin muttered gruffly. "With his brothers."

Thorin reached out to wordlessly clasp the warrior's wrist for a brief moment, his blue eyes moving to focus on the dim shadows of trees that were barely visible behind the throbbing, screaming mass of approaching orcs and goblins.

"…Bilbo doesn't have anyone," he observed, his voice carefully-neutral.

Dwalin was silent.

"It's my fault," Thorin continued quietly. "I sent him out there, I… turned him away. Whatever happens to him, it will be on my head."

"On all of our heads," Dwalin corrected him quietly. "There were twelve of us in that throne room when you banished him, Thorin. None of us made a move to stop you. If anything happens to that hobbit, it will be a burden that we will all have to bear."

Thorin swallowed and nodded, not entirely convinced.

"Dwalin-," he began.

"Thorin," Dwalin interrupted with rough gentleness. "He's Bilbo. He will be fine."

The dwarf king bowed his head and moved to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Thranduil and Bard, his head held high as he gazed over the battlements at the approaching army. A white orc mounted on a gigantic white warg road at the front, its scarred face turned in Thorin's general direction. The orc slowly drew to a halt beneath the balcony, its beady eyes locked intently on the dwarf that stood at the center.

"Hail, Thorin, son of Thrain," it greeted in something that could barely be called the Common Tongue. "You still smell of fear."

Thorin refused to answer the orc and simply waited, his skin crawling slightly when he realized that his shoulders were brushing against Thranduil's armor.

_Bilbo would be thrilled_, he thought wryly, ignoring the sharp stab of fear and guilt that went through him at the thought of the gentle hobbit alone against Azog and his forces.

"I met your _protector_ on the way here," Azog continued, not bothered by the dwarf's silence.

Thorin stiffened and leaned forward, his knuckles whitening as he braced himself against the sun-warmed stone of the battlements. Dimly, the dwarf felt Dwalin reach out to pull him back and shrugged the larger warrior away, his ears roaring with the sharp, dismayed gasps of his nephews.

"Where is he?" he demanded, his voice carrying easily across the roars of Azog's forces.

The white orc seemed to smile at his reaction and raised its hand, a wad of crumpled blue cloth clenched between its fingers.

"Here," it roared. It gestured towards a nearby orc whose face was painted in streaks of blood. "There." Five more orcs raised gleaming, bloodstained weapons into the air with savage roars that sent chills down Thorin's spine. "There."

Thorin growled under his breath, his blood boiling in its veins even as a knot of icy despair formed in the pit of his stomach.

_My fault… This is my fault… I killed him…_

More orcs were raising bloodstained weapons into the air, their grey faces painted in red-brown blood. Azog was laughing and pointing, his arms waving as he conducted his own demented symphony of screams and battle cries.

"The _protector_," Azog screamed above its troops. "Is _gone_. Who will protect you now, Thorin, son of Thrain? Where is your shield?"

_I killed him…._

"Thorin," Dwalin hissed fiercely. "_Thorin_."

_I could not save him… But I __**will**__ avenge him._

"_Kíli!_" Thorin roared.

A single arrow flew with painful accuracy into the neck of Azog's warg, sending the white orc tumbling gracelessly onto the field. A deadly silence spread across the field as the white orc slowly pulled itself onto its feet, its eyes blazing with fury. The dwarves, elves, and men that lined Erebor's battlements shattered the silence with a roar of triumph as Thranduil and Bard raised their bows to mimic Kíli's, their muscles tensed and ready for battle.

Thorin pushed violently away from the balcony before the first arrows could hit their targets, his footsteps shadowed by Dwalin's lumbering strides and his nephew's quick, rapid steps. Legions of silent elves and thundering dwarves and men roared up at him from the depths of Erebor, desperate to break through the gates.

"Azog is mine," Thorin growled. "I want my sword dark with his blood."

"Get in line, Uncle," Fíli snarled, his twin blades gleaming silver in the shadows of Erebor's halls.

**Yeah… definitely longer than a oneshot… whoops? Sorry for the long wait here, guys, my schedule is getting incredibly insane as graduation gets closer (btw, congrats to anyone else who is graduating this year! We made it, haha!) So~ Please let me know how I'm doing so far, okay? And feel free to yell at me if anyone is too OOC here, or if I'm getting something too incredibly wrong. And thank you all soooo much for reading/reviewing this, it means a lot to me! **


	3. Chapter 3

**So, I finally got around to getting this written down… Darn graduation stuff clogging up my updating schedule :P Anyways, thanks so much to those who have read/reviewed this story. You guys are totally awesome! Also, I finally got around to getting a tumblr under luxionyx, and I'll be posting on that account whenever I update one of my fanfics so… yeah. That's about it. Please review and let me know what ya'll think, okay? **

Dwalin remembered his first battle all too well.

Unlike many of the other members of the company, the swords of the sons of Fundin had drawn their first tastes of blood decades before the dragon had destroyed their home. Dwalin had long forgotten the reason for his first battle- he had been a young dwarrow then, barely older than Kíli- but he could never forget the silent rush of dread, adrenaline, and _fear_ that had come- that _always_ came before the gates opened and he faced his enemy.

Dwalin stiffened instinctively as the gates of Erebor began to open, his fingers tightening around the handles of his axes as he moved automatically to place himself in front of the remaining members of the line of Durin. He heard Thorin huff in fond exasperation before the King Under the Mountain raised Orcrist above his head. Fíli and Kíli mimicked the gesture, followed almost immediately by Dwalin and the rest of the dwarves, men, and elves that were crowded around them in the hall.

"_Baruk Khazâd!_" Thorin Oakenshield screamed.

"_Khazâd ai-mênu!_" the dwarves of Erebor roared in reply, their battle cry echoed with screams of Sindarin mixed with the Common Tongue.

Dwalin took in a deep, settling breath and started to run towards the gates, his steps shadowed by the heavy footfalls of hundreds of dwarves, men, and elves. His eyes zeroed in on the growing stream of sunlight that was pouring into the hall through the heavy doors, his ears ringing with the harsh pounding of blood and war cries. He slipped out of Erebor inches in front of Thorin, the blades of his ax slamming immediately into the skull of the nearest orc. Thorin grunted behind him and slipped in front of Dwalin, Orcrist gleaming a bright, brilliant blue in dim light of the sun. Behind them, the heirs of Durin dove headfirst into the fray, Fíli's twin blades flashing in tandem with the gleam of Kíli's sword. The brothers glanced up for a brief moment to meet Dwalin's gaze, their eyes glittering with the same savage rage that had settled over Thorin's sharp sapphire eyes the moment the white orc had lifted the ragged remains of Bilbo's tunic above his head.

Another orc appeared in Dwalin's peripheral vision, its grey skin painted with red-brown blood. Dwalin snarled and slammed both of his axes into the creature's chest before the orc could even raise its own weapon, his thoughts suddenly filled with images of the halfling's hesitant smile and wary blue eyes half-hidden by a raised blade.

"Tha's for Bilbo, bastard," he whispered before moving on to the next orc.

*Bagginshield*Bagginshield*Bagginshield*

Ori stayed close to his brothers until they reached the bottom of the mountain, his muscles burning beneath the unfamiliar weight of Dwalin's hammer. He felt rather than saw the worried glances that Dori constantly sent over his shoulder and forced himself to stand taller, unwilling to show a hint of weakness in front of his older siblings.

_They'll probably send me back into the mountain if I so much as trip over a pebble_, he thought wryly.

Another dwarf flickered through his thoughts just as the men caught sight of the black, pulsing mob of goblins and orcs that had clustered around the gates of Erebor. Ori felt his lips curve upwards at the thought of Dwalin's fierce gaze and surprisingly-gentle smile, even as waves of fear washed over him in the wake of his first real battle. The younger dwarf darted past his oldest brother with a battle cry on his lips, his eyes locked on the small group of gleaming armor and flashing weapons that had started to push its way out of Erebor. His battle hammer slammed into the back of an unsuspecting goblin before his feet had fully left the slopes of the mountain. The creature cried out in shock and pain and struggled to crawl back onto its feet, only to crumple to the ground as one of Nori's knives slashed through its throat.

Nori spared his younger brother a brief, fierce smile before he turned back to the goblins, orcs, and wargs that were already starting to surround them, his brown eyes flickering away from his foes for another brief moment as Dori, Bofur, and Bifur scrambled down the mountain to join them. Ori took a deep breath and plunged into the fray, Dwalin's hammer slamming mercilessly into anything that came too close. Dimly, he heard Dori call out to him in warning and alarm, his words lost to the chaos of the battlefield. Ori ignored him and continued to push his way forward, his every step shadowed and guarded by Nori and Bofur.

The individual faces and details of battle quickly dissolved into a blur of glimpsed enemies and comrades and sudden, thick bursts of black and red blood. Ori forced himself to keep moving closer to the gates of Erebor, his eyes combing the bloody, screaming mass of warriors for any sign of a familiar tattooed head.

"Ori!"

Ori whirled around at the sound of his brother's yell, his eyes widening in panic when he saw the orc that had slipped up behind him, its wicked scimitar already descending towards his head. Ori hastily slammed his hammer into the blade's path, his arms shaking with the effort of parrying the creature's blow. The orc sneered and tore the sword away, causing the dwarf to stumble forward. Ori struggled to regain his balance so that he could parry the orc's next blow, the blood draining from his cheeks when he realized that he wouldn't be able to raise the hammer in time.

A familiar, hoarse shout rang out behind the orc. Ori bit back a gasp as a brown and silver blur leapt onto the orc's shoulders from behind and buried two ax blades into the creature's chest and skull. The orc let out a high, gurgling screech and crumpled onto the ground just as its attacker leaped off of its back and landed in front of Ori with a low 'thump'. Dwalin stared down at the younger dwarf with a gentle smile completely at odds with his bloodstained face and battle axes that were already black with dried orc blood.

"Ye need someone to watch yer back," he pointed out.

Ori smiled shyly and slammed his hammer into the face of a warg that had tried to attack them from the side, his cheeks reddening when he saw Dwalin's approving gaze.

"N-Nori and Bofur were-," he began.

"Let me say this differently," Dwalin interrupted dryly. "Ye need _me_ to watch yer back, Ori."

Ori's smile widened and he shouldered Dwalin's war-hammer for a brief moment to stare up at the older warrior.

"…I think we could make that work," he said finally.

*Bagginshield*Bagginshield*Bagginshield*

It didn't take long for Azog to find Thorin.

Honestly, if Thorin thought about it, he was surprised that it had taken the white orc as long as it did to track down Thorin Oakenshield and the heirs to the line of Durin.

Then again, Thorin often found that he didn't have much time to think during a battle.

The white orc howled in fury and recognition the moment he caught sight of Orcrist on the battlefield, his bloodstained mace raised above his head. Thorin felt an icy rage rise within him at the sight of the orc, his eyes zeroing in on the scrap of dirty blue fabric that was clutched between the clawed fingers of Azog's remaining hand. He tightened his grip on Orcrist and ran forward, his lips curling into a cruel smirk as he drew closer.

"No warg to help you now, Azog," he hissed.

_The protector is gone. Who will protect you now, Thorin, son of Thrain?_

Thorin snarled and forcefully shook Azog's voice out of his head, his muscles jarring painfully as Orcrist's blade collided with the spikes of Azog's mace. He heard Fíli and Kíli's battle cries behind them and spared a brief moment to see them engage another, paler orc that was slightly shorter than Azog several steps behind them. Thorin felt his breath catch with concern for his nephews before he refocused his attention on Azog's sneering face. The orc cackled and took advantage of Thorin's distraction to lash out with his mace. Thorin grimaced as the weapon collided with his gut and knocked the breath out of his lungs. With a breathless snarl, he shook off the blow and attempted to cut through the orc's defenses with a sloppy attack, only to have it blocked effortlessly by the orc.

"Too weak, son of Thrain," the orc purred savagely. "Even your protector was _weak_."

"Do not speak of him," Thorin snarled, unable to keep himself from responding.

Azog's sneer widened at the reaction and he shoved the dwarf away from him, his mace slamming mercilessly into the blade that Thorin hastily raised in his own defense. The orc pressed forward, nearly shoving the dwarf onto the ground.

"He tried to run," the orc informed him quietly. "Like a _coward_. He ran and ran but we _cut_ him down. My son's blade was the last that had the privilege of tasting his blood-."

Thorin roared in agonized fury and slammed his shoulder into Azog's abdomen, his blade twisting between them as he rammed it up through Azog's chest.

"Do not speak of him," Thorin snarled quietly. "You have no right."

Something slammed into Thorin's spine, sending him sprawling painfully onto the bloodstained earth. The dwarf king gave a gasping snarl and twisted painfully back onto his feet, his eyes widening in a sudden horror when he saw another pale white orc looming over him, the crumpled forms of Fíli and Kíli spread-eagled on the ground behind him, their faces pale beneath their matted, tangled hair.

"No," he croaked.

The orc merely snarled and drove his sword through the dwarf's shoulder, pinning him to the ground. Thorin barely bit back a scream of pain, his fingers scrabbling uselessly on the ground in search of his fallen sword.

"My father and I vowed to destroy your line, Thorin, son of Thrain," the orc hissed. "I will _finish_ you, just as I have finished your line."

"Oh, have you?"

The white orc barely managed to turn around before his head was separated from his shoulders by a foreign blade. Thorin's eyes followed the decapitated head until it rolled to a stop at the feet of a dwarrow warrior clad in the gleaming gold and mithril of the line of Durin, his lips curving into a small, pained smile when he met the flashing blue eyes of his sister beneath the thick, tangled locks of her midnight hair.

Dís barely glanced at her brother, her knees already bending to bring her closer to the fallen head of the creature that had tried to destroy her family.

"You will remember my name, you pale-faced bastard," she hissed. "You will be sent into the fiery halls of your dead with the knowledge that it was Dís, daughter of Thrain, son of Thror of the line of Durin that sent you into oblivion."

The dead orc made no reply.

Thorin choked on a scream of pain as the orc's sword was wrenched from his shoulder by his sister, his muscles working to help Dís pull him to his feet.

"The boys-," he croaked.

"They are well, Thorin," Balin called from his place by the youngest Durins. Oin and Gloin were crouched by his side, their hands moving with practiced ease across the unconscious dwarrows. "Oin believes that they will recover soon, with minor injuries."

Thorin nodded stiffly and silently accepted Dís's support, his eyes sweeping across the remains of the battle that was starting to fade behind them.

"Is it-?" he whispered hoarsely.

"The orcs scattered the minute Azog was slaughtered," Dwalin's voice called moments before the warrior himself came into view, his bloodied arm wrapped securely around a trembling Ori. "The tree-shaggers and the men are taking care of the goblins as we speak."

Thorin nodded again, his shoulders slumping as the last dregs of adrenaline seeped out of his body, leaving cold, weary sadness in its wake.

_I did it_, he thought tiredly. _I avenged you, burglar…_

Why, then, did it not feel like he had done enough?

_"Farewell! We may meet again as friends."_

_Friends… Mahal, Bilbo, why did I not tell you that you could never simply be my friend?_

_ Why did I never tell you that I loved you?_


	4. Chapter 4

**Ahem. So, I was going to wait a little longer to write this. Then I saw the Hobbit trailer. So, consider this my own personal celebration in honor of the amazing trailer and the awesome, hot majesticness that is Richard Armitage on the same screen as the adorably-sassy Martin Freeman and the incredibly-hot Orlando Bloom and- and- and pretty much every other person in that cast because I love the Hobbit way too much for my sanity. Anyways~ Rant over, on to the chapter! Oh, real quick though, please remember to review and lemme know what you think of this, or just tell me what your own reaction was to the Hobbit trailer! I want to know that I'm not the only dork out there, hahaha.**

Bilbo Baggins woke to the sounds of battle.

The hobbit blinked slowly in the dim, shadowy light that struggled to filter through the trees of Mirkwood and painfully pulled himself into a sitting position. He bit his lip as his eyes flickered across the dark scarlet rosette of half-dried blood that had spread across the front of his shirt, his breath catching in his throat in response to the sharp stab of pain that went through his aching body.

A screeching goblin raced past his hiding place, causing the hobbit to flinch back into the branches in a sudden, painful panic, his eyes widening in surprise when a silver-haired elf leaped at the goblin, his twin blades flashing silver and black as they sliced through the creature's dry skin. The elf hastily shoved the goblin's corpse away and sheathed his blades before reaching for the bow that had been slung across his back, his bright blue eyes already combing the trees for his next target. Bilbo's breath hitched and slowly started to move closer to the stationary elf, his shaking fingers moving to curl around the cold ring that still rested on his finger.

_NO!_

The hobbit instinctively recoiled at the loud, hissing shout that rang through his mind, his head suddenly pounding with a sharp, searing pain.

_Do not reveal yourself to the elf_, the voice of the ring hissed frantically in his mind. _The elves cannot be trusted. They imprisoned your friends-_

_Oh, now they're my friends, are they?_ Bilbo shot back irritably, only dimly worried that he was now arguing with a disembodied voice.

_Do not trust the elves!_ The voice seemed to grow within his mind, its flat, almost hypnotic tones tinged with the barest hint of anger. _They will take the ring from you, they will use it to take everything away from you. They will destroy you! Stay hidden… Stay hidden and wait until they leave…_

Bilbo slowly pulled his hand away from the ring, his muscles already relaxing back into the underbrush as he prepared to follow the rings instructions, prepared to wait-

_Wait for what?_ he thought suddenly. _And… And the elves are my friends, too. They took me in when Thorin… when he… They will not hurt me._

_Do not trust-_

Bilbo forcibly shoved the voice of the ring out of his mind and pulled the burning metal off of his finger, a low gasp of pain and surprise breaking through his lips when the ring stung the palm of his hand like a flame. The elf whirled around at the sound of the gasp, his eyes widening in shock and recognition when he caught sight of the bloodied hobbit that was crouched in the underbrush behind him. Bilbo offered the elf a weary smile, his eyes finally focusing on the taller man's familiar face.

"Legolas…" he croaked.

"Mister Baggins," the elf prince whispered in shock and awe. "What are you-?" The elf broke off abruptly when Bilbo's breath hitched again, his bright blue eyes narrowed with concern. "You are injured."

"I- I'm afraid so," Bilbo admitted sheepishly. The hobbit carefully tucked the burning ring into the pocket of his coat just as Legolas hurried to his side, the breath hissing out of his lungs as the elf's lithe arms gingerly lifted him into the air.

"I am sorry," Legolas murmured apologetically. "But we must get you to a healer as soon as possible."

Bilbo nodded stiffly and allowed himself to relax against the elf's armored chest, his eyes locking for a brief moment on the goblin corpse that was still crumpled onto the ground a few feet away.

"Battle…" he gasped.

"My men and I were merely taking care of a few stragglers," Legolas assured him quickly. "I am told that the main battle is already over."

"The main…?"

"The siege of Erebor," the elf explained, his arms tightening slightly around the hobbit as he darted soundlessly through the forrest. Dimly, Bilbo was aware of several other elves falling into place behind them, their bows and knives held at the ready as they searched the trees for any remaining enemies. "The forces of the Iron Hills, Laketown, and Mirkwood entered into an alliance with the company of Thorin Oakenshield before the orcs and goblins arrived."

"R-Really?" Bilbo whispered, his heart pounding with a sudden wave of fear and relief. Thorin had allied himself with the elves?

Legolas nodded and shot the hobbit a gentle smile. The sunlight was growing stronger now; Bilbo found that he could just make out the edges of the forest and wondered hazily how the elf could move so quickly.

"It is thanks to you, really," the elf prince mused quietly. "If it had not been for your insistence that my father and Bard take refuge in Erebor, the alliance would never have taken place and we would have been slaughtered." Legolas paused, his lips curving upwards into a smile that was almost mischievous. "And I am told that much of Thorin's willingness to give refuge to my people is due to you, as well."

Bilbo felt the blood rush into his cheeks and started to shake his head, only to stop when the movement sent waves of dizziness through his weakening body. He felt Legolas tighten his grip and tried to smile in response to the worry in the elf's gaze, his lips working to form a proper response to the elf's words.

"N-No," he whispered, his words noticeably slurred. "Thorin doesn't… Not for me… N-Not now, after the… the Arkenstone…"

His vision began to fade almost immediately after he had spoken the word. The hobbit finally allowed himself to slip into oblivion against the comforting warmth of the elf's chest, his ears perking up one last time as the elf murmured into his ear.

"…You are wrong," Legolas whispered gently, his voice echoing strangely in Bilbo's mind as it accompanied him into shadowy dreams.

*Bagginshield*Bagginshield*Bagginshield*

The gates of Erebor were already open by the time Legolas and his guards ran up to the mountain, its dark halls alive and echoing with the moans of the wounded and the shouts of victorious warriors. Legolas paused at the entrance and shifted the weight of the small, unconscious hobbit in his arms, his muscles burning with the first hints of exhaustion. He forced himself to stand tall as he strode into the halls, centuries of his father's lectures and lessons on behavior befitting elven royalty flitting through the back of his mind. One of his guards ran to a pair of wary dwarven guards and quietly informed them of the identity of the newest arrivals, his eyes widening in silent shock and alarm when a small mob of dirty and bloodied dwarrows came barreling out of the halls of Erebor towards his prince.

Legolas stiffened slightly when the group of half-familiar dwarves surrounded him, a half-raised eyebrows the only hint of his own confusion and surprise when he recognized the two princes of Erebor at the head of the mob. He bowed his head in a stiff, half-formed bow, his arms tightening instinctively around the hobbit cradled against his chest to ensure that the creature did not fall. Several of the dwarves made as if to pluck the hobbit from his grasp, their eyes wild with relief and alarm. The eldest of the two princes, a dwarf with golden hair and shrewd eyes that had once glared at Legolas with cold fury, bit his lip and met Legolas's gaze, his features working to find some semblance of control.

"Your father is meeting with Bard, Dain, and my uncle to work out the details of our alliance," he informed the elf carefully. My brother and I were told to watch for your arrival and send word to the king the moment that you arrived." The golden dwarf paused and took a deep breath, his eyes locking once more on the hobbit. "Bilbo, is he… how is he?"

"He needs a healer," Legolas explained flatly. "And he has lost some blood, but I do believe that he will survive."

The dwarf visibly relaxed and nodded, his lips quirking upwards into a small, hesitant smile.

"Kíli," he said quietly, immediately drawing the attention of the dark-haired prince. "Tell King Thranduil that his son has arrived. And tell Uncle-."

"On it!" Kíli crowed, his legs already carrying him further into the halls of Erebor.

Legolas smiled slightly, his smile fading when the hobbit shivered in his arms.

"Where are the healing rooms?" he asked quietly.

An old, wizened dwarf that had also been among the former captives of Mirkwood shuffled forward, a battered horn pressed into his ear.

"Follow me," the dwarf grunted. "Has the bleeding stopped?"

"Yes, it-"

"What?" the dwarf barked, startling the elf.

"He doesn't hear very well," a kindly-looking dwarf with an odd hat offered helpfully, his dark eyes narrowed with worry as they looked at Bilbo. "Try speaking up, yeah?"

"Ah… _Yes_," Legoals shouted hesitantly, immediately grabbing the attention of several passing humans and dwarves. "_The bleeding stopped entirely on the way here._"

"No need to shout, laddie," the old dwarf huffed before he turned to lead the group down a half-hidden passageway.

Legolas frowned and shot a half-furious glance at the dwarf with the funny hat, only to find the dwarf snickering quietly beside an equally-amused dwarf prince.

"I didn' tell ya to shout, you know," the kindly dwarf purred. "Just said that you needed to speak up."

"Dwarves," Legolas grumbled under his breath, stubbornly ignoring the small, exasperated smile that was already trying to make its appearance on his lips.

*Bagginshield*Bagginshield*Bagginshield*

Thorin sat heavily in his seat at the meeting table, his blue eyes following Bard and Dain as the two men paced at opposite ends of the large, dusty meeting room. Thranduil merely stared at the ceiling above them, his immaculate silver hair and cool, disinterested expression a marked contrast to the bruised faces of the dwarf kings and the uneasy frowns of the human archer. Thorin rolled his eyes at the elf's composure and rubbed absently at the bandages that had been wrapped around his injured shoulder, trying to ignore the dull ache that had settled in his chest after the fury and adrenaline of battle had faded.

"Dain," he called tiredly. "I already agreed to give the men of Dale and the elves of Mirkwood more gold in exchange for their services in battle."

"But, Thorin, have you seen the amount that they have asked for?" Dain hissed furiously.

"It's not like we don't have the gold," Thorin pointed out wryly.

"Thorin-"

"I fail to see why it is such a hardship for you dwarves to give to those who have nothing," Bard snapped irritably. "Especially when you have so much."

"And what of the elves?" Dain snarled. "Do you mean to tell me that they also have nothing?"

"The affairs of the elves are none of your concern, Dain of the Iron Hills," Thranduil broke in flatly.

"They are, however, mine," Thorin interrupted harshly. "Dain, I have already agreed to their terms and I will stand by my word. I will not allow greed for gold to cloud my judgment in this." _Not again…_ "The arrangement should be of benefit to us all, since I am sure that the markets of Dale will welcome the trade of dwarves and men alike as it did in ages past."

Bard nodded and opened his mouth to comment, only to be cut short as the door to the meeting room burst open and Kíli burst into the room, his features flushed beneath the bandages that had been wrapped around his head and arm.

"Uncle!" he called out, apparently oblivious to the other men that were gathered in the room. "Uncle, Prince Legolas has arrived with a small contingent of guards."

Thranduil shot to his feet immediately, his pale features softening for the briefest of moments with something that could almost be called relief. The elf king opened his mouth, only to be cut off as well as Kíli continued, his limbs nearly trembling in excitement.

"Bilbo is with him!" the youngest prince of Erebor declared happily, his dark eyes sparkling with relief and mirth.

Thorin gasped and slowly lifted himself from his seat, his knuckles whitening against the edge of the table as he braced himself against the carved stone surface.

"Bilbo?" he croaked. "He is… alive?"

Kíli's happiness dimmed visibly, nearly stopping Thorin's heart in his chest.

"He's unconscious," the young dwarf reported carefully. "And Prince Legolas says that he has lost some blood, but he seems to think that Bilbo will live."

Thorin nodded stiffly and pushed away from the table to join his nephew at the door, barely noticing when Thranduil moved to follow him.

"We will continue this meeting later," he announced to the other two inhabitants of the room. "There is something that I must see to first."

Dain frowned and cocked his head to the side, his frown deepening when Bard merely smiled knowingly and bowed his head.

"Give my regards to the Halfling," the human archer murmured.

Thorin spared the archer a brief bow and hurried out of the room, his heart pounding frantically in his chest as Kíli's words finally began to sink in.

_Bilbo is alive…._


	5. Chapter 5

Bilbo Baggins hoped that he was dreaming.

Darkness surrounded him in a thick, numbing cloak that didn't quite erase the sharp waves of burning pain that pulsed through him with every breath. Bilbo shivered and struggled to lift himself off of… what _was_ he lying on, anyways?

_Bagginses…._

The hobbit froze and glanced instinctively in the direction of the half-familiar voice, his eyes straining against the shadows.

"H-Hello?" he called, his voice echoing strangely in his ears.

_Bagginses… what is a Bagginses, precious?_

"Eru," Bilbo croaked, his eyes widening in fear as he whipped around in search of the creature from Goblintown.

_What has it got in its pocketses, precious? What. Has. It. Gots?_

"G-get away from me," Bilbo hissed. "_Show yourself!_"

_Nasty hobbitses… they stole it from us, precious… They stole our precious…_

"You can have it back!" he snapped frantically. "I don't want it anymore- take it back."

"_That's not very nice…._"

The hobbit flinched instinctively at the sound of the ring's cool, flat voice, his bare fingers clenching tightly at his sides.

"Get away from me," he repeated harshly. "Go back to that… that Gollum creature. I don't need you!"

"_Are you sure?_" the voice whispered silkily.

"Yes. I-."

"_How are you going to get out of here, Master Baggins?_" the voice continued, its flat tone deepening until Bilbo could almost pretend that Thorin was speaking to him. "_Do you know the way out?_"

"…I-."

"_I know the way. I can show you… I can take you back home…_"

"Erebor," Bilbo whispered before he could stop himself.

The voice's responding, icy chuckle sent shivers down Bilbo's spine. The hobbit struggled to stumble away from the ring's poisonous presence, only to falter when he realized that he still couldn't see where his feet were taking him.

"_Erebor?_" the voice repeated icily. "_What makes you think that they would want you back in the mountain after what you did? You betrayed them._"

"I-I didn't," Bilbo objected weakly.

"_They don't want to see your face again_," the ring reminded him. "_Thorin said so… He hates you, you know_."

The hobbit felt his knees buckle beneath him and collapsed heavily onto the ground, his heart sinking in his chest like a lead weight.

"You're right," he mumbled.

"_You know I'm right_," the ring hissed cheerfully. "_He despises you… if he's even alive._"

Ice slithered down Bilbo's spine and his heart froze in his chest, leaving the hobbit gasping for breath.

"N-No," Bilbo snapped. "No, I know he's alive… Legolas told me-."

"_He's an elf… elves lie._"

"So do you!" the hobbit snarled with a sudden surge of fury. "You… _You_ told me to reveal myself to those orcs. You wanted me to kill myself!"

"_They would have taken you home_," the voice retorted furiously.

"What home?" Bilbo growled. "The Shire? Orcs don't belong in the Shire-."

"_Mordor_."

"…What?"

"_Mordor_," the ring whispered again, its voice slipping easily into a soft, hypnotic tone that gave the hobbit no choice but to listen. "_Mordor is our home. It is… __**precious**__ to us._"

"Precious," Bilbo repeated dazedly. His feet move forward suddenly, as if he had been pushed, and he took another, hesitant step as the ring continued to croon in his ear.

"_Yes_," the ring insisted. "_So precious to us… It will give us what we want. It will give us __**everything**__._"

"So precious," Bilbo gasped, his mind already yearning for this strange, half-familiar land. He needed to go, he needed to get there and find… and find…

"_Our king is there_," the ring told him. "_He is waiting for us. We are precious to him. He will reward us greatly for coming to him. He is a generous king…_"

"Very generous," the hobbit agreed dreamily. "Such a generous ki-." He stopped suddenly and felt his brow furrow in confusion, his muddled mind gradually clearing, as if he was waking up from a dream. "I already have a king."

The ring hissed furiously and started to speak, only to be cut off by Bilbo before it could really begin.

"Thorin is my king," he snapped. "He will _always_ be my king. I don't need another one."

Bilbo choked suddenly as the breath was stolen from his lungs, his chest heaving in a futile effort to draw oxygen into his body. The ring's harsh, furious snarls rang through his skull, drowning out the hobbit's thoughts. Far off in the distance, Bilbo imagined that he could hear voices raised in panic and concern. He heard his name echo faintly in the darkness and opened his mouth to cry out in reply, his lips opening and closing in silent screams.

"_You will not stop me_," the ring screamed. "_I __**will**__ be reunited with my king, and I will see your world destroyed- __**I will burn you**__._"

_**BILBO**__._

_**Bilbo, wake up!**_

_** Bilbo…**_

__"Thorin," Bilbo managed to gasp, his mind already slipping into oblivion even as oxygen flooded into his lungs.

*Bagginshield*Bagginshield*Bagginshield*

Thorin stared down at the unconscious hobbit in his bed, silently willing the creature to wake up.

"Uncle."

Thorin merely grunted in response, his blue eyes never moving from Bilbo's pale, peaceful face.

"Uncle," Fíli tried again.

Another grunt.

"Uncle, the elves are eating vegetables on your throne!" Kíli blurted out, apparently oblivious to the horrified look that Legolas gave him in response.

The King Under the Mountain turned away from the hobbit for the briefest of moments to fix his youngest nephew with a furious glare before he returned to his previous position, his bandaged shoulders stiff with tension beneath his worn fur coat. Fíli rolled his eyes at his brother and offered the prince of Mirkwood an apologetic grimace, not quite able to hide the glimmer of amusement in his eyes. Legolas huffed but made no move to leave the room, his pale blue eyes locked on the slumbering hobbit that had claimed Thorin Oakenshield's undivided attention.

In all honesty, the prince of Mirkwood was still surprised that the dwarf king continued to tolerate his presence in the room. While the other dwarves of Bilbo's company had allowed Legolas to remain in the healing room with minimal grumbling, the brief look of furious confusion that Thorin Oakenshield had sent his way moments before he ran to the unconscious hobbit's side had clearly told the weary elf that his presence would not be tolerated for much longer.

Then Bilbo had stopped breathing.

Legolas still shuddered at the memory of the moment when the hobbit had started to thrash violently in his bed, his dark blue eyes staring unseeingly at the stone ceiling above him as his slowly began to turn blue. Thorin had bellowed in shock and fear before he was dragged away from the bed by his nephews and several other members of his company. The wizened dwarven healer that had told Legolas to speak louder was by the hobbit's side before the king had been fully removed, his gnarled fingers flying with a practiced, desperate efficiency across Bilbo's heaving body in an effort to find the source of the difficulty. After a few frantic moments, the old dwarf had looked up and met the frightened gaze of the elven prince that was still frozen in the corner, barely daring to move.

"Get over here, lad," the healer had snarled.

Legolas barely remembered what had happened next. He could vaguely recall stumbling across the crowded room to join the healer, his senses suddenly overwhelmed with the dark, choking scent of evil that seemed to have surrounded the hobbit's tiny body like a thick cloak. He couldn't remember if he had reeled back in shock or grasped Bilbo's hand in an instinctive account to dispel the darkness surrounding him. Whatever his response had been, the hobbit had stilled moments after the elf had reached his side, although it wasn't until Thorin had cried out for the hobbit in a broken, desperate voice that Bilbo started to breathe again.

Bilbo Baggins had been moved to the king's personal chambers soon after the incident in order to give the tiny creature some privacy from the legions of injured warriors and frenzied healers that crowded Erebor's ruined halls in the wake of the battle. Much to his surprise, Legolas had found himself herded into the king's chambers by two trembling and exhausted dwarven princes. His earlier attempt to leave the room in order to give the worried dwarves some privacy had been met with Thorin's furious glare and Fíli and Kíli's desperate, pleading gazes.

Needless to say, the elven prince hadn't attempted to leave after that.

The heavy, half-rotted wooden door creaked open behind him, causing Legolas to flinch away from the doorway. Thorin's sister, Dís, swept into the room ahead of two members of Thorin's original company- Balin and Dwalin, if he remembered correctly. A fourth arrival ducked through the doorway immediately after the three dwarves, his wizened features pale with exhaustion beneath a familiar grey beard.

Legolas felt a heavy weight slip off of his shoulders at the sight of the grey wizard and offered the taller man a small, relieved smile.

"_Mithrandir_," he breathed.

Gandalf spared the elf a warm look before he hurried to Thorin's side, his bushy brows furrowing in concern as he crouched to get a better look at Bilbo.

"My dear hobbit," he whispered sadly. "What have we done to you?"

"What took you so long?" Thorin demanded tersely, apparently oblivious to the warning glances that Balin, Dwalin, and his sister were sending his way.

The grey wizard merely looked weary. "I am afraid that the business at Dol Guldur took more effort than I had expected. I was required to rest with Radagast until I could recover some of my strength. When I heard that an army of orcs and goblins were heading towards Erebor…" His voice trailed off and he shook his head, his shoulders tensing as he reached out to press a gentle hand to the hobbit's pale forehead.

"I am sorry that I did not get here sooner," he murmured.

Thorin Oakenshield remained silent. The dwarf king and the other inhabitants of the room watched the wizard bend over the prone hobbit, his lips moving to form the ancient words of the Valar. Legolas heaved a quiet sigh of relief when Bilbo stirred and slowly opened his eyes, his brow furrowing in bleary confusion at the wizard above him.

"Where…?" the hobbit croaked.

"It's alright," Gandalf assured him. "You are safe in Erebor."

Bilbo slowly shook his head, his expression growing more agitated as his eyes flickered wildly across the room.

"No…" he moaned. "Where… where is it?"

Legolas frowned and glanced towards the two dwarf princes at his side, wondering if they understood the hobbit's words. Kíli simply stared back at him, his dark eyes troubled. Gandalf frowned as well and leaned closer, his free arm outstretched to keep a restless Thorin away from Bilbo.

"Where is what?" he demanded carefully, his grey eyes sharp with suspicion.

"The…the precious," Bilbo hissed, his normally-kind, gentle voice sharp with a strange emotion that sent chills down Legolas's spine. "That damned… ring…."

"The ring?" Gandalf repeated slowly, the barest hint of alarm in his voice.

"Don't you usually keep it in your pocket?" Kíli asked, apparently oblivious to the wizard's concern. The young dwarf started to make his way to the worn, ragged coat that had been tossed into the corner of the room shortly after the hobbit was moved.

"No!" Bilbo shouted, his eyes suddenly clear and bright with alarm. The hobbit made to leap out of bed, only to be restrained by Thorin's strong arms as the dwarf darted beneath Gandalf's outstretched arm.

Kíli froze and cast the hobbit a startled look over his shoulder. Legolas reached out automatically and pulled the young dwarf further away from the coat, dimly surprised at the lack of resistance from the short archer. Bilbo gradually relaxed when he saw that Kíli had been pulled as far away from the coat as was physically possible in the crowded room.

"Don't go near it," Bilbo mumbled, his eyes locked on the coat with an odd combination of longing and loathing. "Don't even touch it… Please, for the love of Eru, don't go near that- that awful _thing_."

"You called it 'precious' barely a moment ago," Gandalf observed casually.

Thorin shot the wizard a sharp glance as the hobbit shuddered, his arms already pulling Bilbo closer to his bandaged chest.

"We won't touch it, Bilbo," he whispered soothingly. "I swear by Mahal, we won't touch it."

The hobbit stiffened at the sound of Thorin's voice and stared up at the dwarf with wide eyes. The king offered him a small, hesitant smile and moved to release the former burglar when Bilbo made no move to relax. Bilbo made a small noise of protest and instinctively moved closer to Thorin, although Legolas noted that the hobbit still seemed confused by his situation.

"T-Thorin?" Bilbo whispered cautiously, his eyes never leaving the dwarf king's face.

"I'm here," Thorin mumbled, his cheeks reddening with the barest hint of a blush when Dís and Dwalin snorted simultaneously at the king's obvious statement.

"I- You- I'm in Erebor?" the hobbit stuttered.

"I believe that I have already said that," Gandalf grumbled good-naturedly, his eyes still fixed on Bilbo's coat with shrewd curiosity.

"Yes," Thorin assured the hobbit gently. "You are in Erebor."

"But… Earlier…"

Thorin's eyes darkened in pain, immediately silencing the hobbit. The dwarf king heaved a heavy sigh and pulled the hobbit closer to his chest, his normally-grim features nearly buried in Bilbo's curly hair.

"I am truly sorry," he croaked, his voice barely audible to Legolas's sharp ears. "I'm so sorry, my burglar. I- I didn't realize how much the gold lust of my forefathers had affected me until after I…" He paused and swallowed thickly, apparently unable to speak about the moment when he had dangled Bilbo over the walls of Erebor and threatened to kill the hobbit.

"Forgive me," he whispered. "Please forgive me. I know that I don't deserve your forgiveness, and I swear to you that I will do all that I can to fully repent for my crimes against you."

Bilbo blinked up at the dwarf, his lips slowly curving up into the most hesitant of smiles.

"You don't hate me?" he asked cautiously.

Thorin laughed brokenly and shook his head, his face still pressed into the hobbit's tangled curls.

"No," he answered breathlessly. "No, I don't hate you."

Bilbo smiled slightly and pulled away from the king, his smile widening when Thorin's face fell in response. The hobbit reached up and lightly smacked the dwarf across the top of the head, his brow puckering with the slightest hint of disappointment when the king seemed completely unaffected by the blow.

"Blasted dwarves," he muttered half-heartedly. "Just you wait until I get my strength back, then I'll give you a proper smack."

Thorin's nephews began to giggle uncontrollably behind Legolas, only to unsuccessfully smother their laughter when Bilbo flashed them a surprisingly-threatening look.

"D-Don't worry, Bilbo," Kíli gasped between muted giggles. "I'm sure Uncle is looking forward to that- to that proper smack."

Fíli snorted and turned away before Bilbo could focus on him, his hand pressed against his mouth as his shoulders continued to shake. Bilbo rolled his eyes and turned back to Thorin, his frown lifted slightly when he caught sight of the badly-hidden anxiety in the king's eyes.

"You have a lot to make up for, you know," he informed Thorin flatly.

Thorin bowed his head in silent acknowledgement. Bilbo chuckled then and wrapped his arms around the dwarf king's shoulders.

"Thank you," the hobbit whispered. "For letting me come back."

Thorin Oakenshield smiled and returned the embrace, his blue eyes bright.

"Thank you coming back to me," he murmured.

**So…. This fic is actually going to be longer…. I think. Actually, it's up to you guys. Would you rather I expand this fic so that it includes Bilbo's struggle with the ring? Or, would you rather I end the fic on a bit of a cliffy and make the ring story arc a separate fic? ****Or**** do you want me to just end the fic with either a vague description of how the ring was taken care of or no resolution in the ring area at all? And, if you do want me to continue with the ring stuff, are there any characters from LotR that it would be possible to include that you would want to see (aka, Aragorn, Arwen, Galadriel, Boromir and Faramir's father/grandfather, etc?) Let me know what you think, okay guys? (And, as always, please let me know if I'm completely destroying any character personalities. I am still a newbie in this fandom, and I want to know if I'm making anyone cringe :P)**

**I'm so sorry for how long it took to get this chapter up- I was in Ireland and England for about a week, and I haven't really gotten a chance until now to tackle this fic until now. Thank you so much to all the people who read/reviewed this, and, once again, please let me know what you think, kay?**


	6. Chapter 6

"No."

Gandalf glared back at the dwarf king of Erebor, his grey eyes flashing with a rare, exasperated fury that made the other inhabitants in the room shift uneasily.

"We must check to make sure that this ring of Bilbo's is what I fear it is," the wizard snapped.

"A fear that you have not decided to share with us," Thorin pointed out sharply.

"Thorin Oakenshield, if I shared all my fears with every foolish or curious being that asked for them, there would be no shred of peace left in our hearts and I would find myself bereft of friends," Gandalf snarled. "Now let me check the ring. If everything is as I fear, you will have your answer."

"Check, if you must," Thorin stated with affected indifference. "But Bilbo will not be a part of your test."

Bilbo Baggins frowned slightly and made to sit up straighter on Thorin's bed, a task that was made rather difficult by the dwarven arms that were still wrapped around his small frame.

"If I may-," he began hoarsely.

"Bilbo Baggins is the only one among us who can touch the ring without risk," Gandalf argued. "He found the ring- he must bear it."

"He is still weak," Thorin snarled.

"As are we all!" the wizard shouted, causing the rest of the room to jump. "Do not underestimate the strength of hobbits," he continued in a quieter tone. "For they are made of more than any of us can comprehend. You, of all people, should know this, Thorin Oakenshield."

The King Under the Mountain flinched and slowly pulled away from the hobbit in his arms, his features dark with regret and displeasure. Bilbo's frown deepened and he used the king's sudden distance to slip out of bed. The hobbit's knees buckled the moment he made contact with the ground and he nearly fell onto his face, only to be caught almost immediately by Fíli and Kíli's waiting hands. The dwarven princes flashed Bilbo hesitant smiles and gradually pulled away, giving the Halfling time to gather his strength. Thorin watched the proceedings from his place on the bed, his muscles tensed and ready to leap to Bilbo's assistance the minute the hobbit showed need of it.

Bilbo flashed Thorin a small, weary smile and slowly made his way to Gandalf's side, his blue eyes flickering between the wizard and his discarded coat every few moments.

"…What would you have me do?" he asked finally.

The wizard's face was grim as he stared down at the hobbit, his grey eyes filled with a sadness that no other being could quite comprehend.

"Do you see that fire in the hearth?" he murmured.

Bilbo nodded slowly, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Yes, of course."

"I need you to throw the ring into the fire," Gandalf whispered.

Bilbo reeled back as if he had been struck, his eyes widening in shock and fear. Thorin leapt to his feet and was at the hobbit's side in a moment, his own eyes fixed on the wizard in protective fury.

"T-throw it…" Bilbo repeated faintly.

"Yes," Gandalf replied firmly, his expression darkening. "It will not harm the ring, I can assure you, even if it is simply a normal trinket. Any dwarf here can tell you that regular fire is not hot enough to melt gold."

"He's right, laddie," Balin called from his place beside Dís and Dwalin. "The ring will be unharmed."

Bilbo swallowed thickly and nodded, although his eyes remained tainted with fear and unease. With short, stumbling footsteps he made his way to his jacket and carefully fished a small gold ring out of his breastpocket, his eyes fixing on Thorin and his heirs in silent warning when the three dwarves made to shadow his movements. The hobbit took a deep breath and staggered to the edge of the hearth, his fingers tightening for a brief moment around the ring before he threw it with great reluctance into the fire.

Gandalf ran to the fire's edge within seconds and carefully fished the golden trinket out of the flames. A low hiss broke through his lips as he inspected the lines of faint, flowing script that had appeared along the surface of the ring.

"_One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them_," he whispered absently, almost as if he had forgotten that there were others in the room. "_One Ring bring them all and in the darkness bind them._"

There was silence in the room long after the wizard had finished speaking, broken only by the increasingly-uneasy shifts of the hobbit that still stood before the hearth. Finally, Gandalf jerked and dropped the ring into Bilbo's waiting hands. Thorin growled at the action, only to still in shock when the metal failed to burn the hobbit's gentle hands.

"It is quite cool, Thorin Oakenshield," Gandalf sighed heavily. "There is no need to fear. Bilbo," he added, causing the hobbit to jerk in shock. "Put the ring away, if you will."

Bilbo hesitated and a shadow flew across his face. The Halfling glanced at Thorin for a long moment, his jaw clenched in the grip of some inner struggle. He nodded jerkily and hurried back to the coat, his fingers dropping the ring back into his pocket as if he truly had been burned. Bilbo lingered by the coat for a moment longer, his head bent to hide the expression on his face. The dwarves in the room frowned at his obvious unease, their own faces shadowed in fear.

It was Legolas who finally spoke up, his lips forming the questions that the others longed to speak.

"Is it… as you had feared it would be?" he asked hesitantly.

Gandalf nodded silently.

"It is," he admitted. "And I find that my fears, upon being confirmed, have only grown…"

"You said that you would explain these fears after your test," Thorin snapped. "Explain them now."

"Thorin," Dís snarled in warning, only to be cut off by a gesture from the wizard.

"No, he is right," Gandalf said heavily. "Besides, I will need to explain myself eventually- it will be far easier to explain when everyone is in the same room." He straightened suddenly and seemed to regain some of his usual energy, his grey eyes flashing. "Summon the other members of the company, along with Thranduil, Bard, and Dain. The tale that I will tell is a dark one, but I am afraid that you all must hear it, for no one will be unaffected."

Thorin frowned but nodded for Balin and Dwalin to do as the wizard said. Legolas hurried to follow them as well, his pale eyes dark with worry. Gandalf watched them go and heaved a low sigh before he turned back to Bilbo. The hobbit finally raised his eyes to meet the taller being's gaze.

"What have I gotten myself into, Gandalf?" he asked dryly.

The wizard did not reply.

*Bagginshield*Bagginshield*Bagginshield*

In the end, Dís was the one who insisted that they all move to the room where Thorin had met with his fellow rulers for negotiations merely hours before. No matter how comfortable the king's chambers could be under normal circumstances, the dwarven princess doubted that a bedchamber was really the right place for the sort of explanation that Gandalf had in mind.

Dís took care to stand beside her brother at the head of the meeting table, her shoulders pressed against his in silent support. Though he would never allow a word of complaint to pass his lips, Thorin's features were already pinched with pain, and the stiff set of his shoulders were an obvious sign to anyone who knew him that the king of Erebor was still suffering from his battle wounds. The hobbit seemed to sense Thorin's pain as well. Despite his own weakness, Bilbo Baggins was pressed firmly against Thorin's other side, his features set into the same determined expression that he had worn when he had saved Dís's life from the orcs in Mirkwood.

Dís allowed herself to smile faintly at the thought of the tiny, brave hobbit that had thrown himself so willingly into harm's way for the sake of her family. She felt her features harden almost immediately after the smile appeared, her eyes focused intently on the figures that had just begun to enter the meeting room behind her sons. The heirs of Erebor immediately went to flank their uncle on either side of Dís and Bilbo, followed closely by the other members of the company. Dís noted with a dim sort of surprise that Gloin's son, Gimli, had managed to worm his way into their midst, his rough fingers still curled around the handle of his father's ax.

Thranduil and Legolas filed in after the dwarves, followed by a weary Bard and an angry Dain. The King of the Ironhills paused when he caught sight of the royal family of Erebor, his unease growing.

"What is the meaning of this gathering?" he demanded. He blinked at the sight of the hobbit that had pressed itself to Thorin's side. "And… What- is that the hobbit?"

Bilbo nodded and took a small step away from Thorin's side to offer the dwarf king a small, pained bow.

"Bilbo Baggins, at your service," he said.

Dain blinked again and somehow managed to return the bow, his mouth twitching into something that could almost be called a smile.

"Dain Ironfoot, at yours and your family's," he replied gruffly. "And my thanks to you, Master Baggins, for your services to my men."

Bilbo's cheeks reddened at the praise and he retreated back to the safety of Thorin's side. Dís felt herself smile at the movement and gently nudged her brother in the side, her smile widening when she saw the obvious affection in his eyes.

_Finally_, some distant corner of her mind whispered gleefully.

All smiles faded when Gandalf cleared his throat and moved to stand at the opposite end of the table, his expression grim.

"How many of you knew that Bilbo possessed an enchanted ring?" he demanded sharply.

Every member of the company raised their hands and grunted in acknowledgement, while Thranduil, Bard, and Dain merely stared in obvious confusion. Gandalf nodded as if he had expected this and ran a hand through his tangled hair.

"In order to reach the Lonely Mountain, the Company of Thorin Oakenshield was obliged to pass through the Misty Mountains," he explained brusquely. "While there, they were attacked and captured by goblins, who took them into the mountains to be interrogated by their king. Bilbo, as it so happens, was separated from the company and, as I have been told, ran into a creature known only as 'Gollum'. This Gollum had in his possession a certain ring, which then passed to Bilbo when our dear hobbit found that the creature had dropped it onto the ground. Bilbo quickly found out that the ring granted invisibility to the wearer and used the object during the course of his journey to help his friends."

Thranduil stiffened suddenly and shot the hobbit an appraising glance, dawning realization in his eyes. Bilbo's blush deepened and he lifted his chin in defiance, his eyes never leaving Gandalf's figure.

"This ring," Gandalf continued. "Is, as Bilbo proved just moments ago, the One Ring of Sauron. The Ring of Power."

The effect was almost instantaneous.

Thranduil drew in a sharp breath and drew closer to his son, who, impossibly, seemed to have grown paler in the dim light. Dain swore softly in Khuzdul, his oaths echoed with more volume by Dwalin, Gloin, and Nori. Bard cursed and pressed a hand across his eyes, while the rest of Thorin's company seemed torn between pulling away from their hobbit and drawing closer to the small being. Thorin himself merely stiffened and pulled Bilbo closer, his expression unreadable.

Bilbo frowned.

"Sorry, am I missing something?" he asked hesitantly.

Gandalf smiled sadly and reached out to place a gentle hand on the hobbit's shoulder.

"Even hobbits have heard of Sauron, yes?" he guessed quietly.

Bilbo nodded stiffly. "Of course."

"And have you heard about the Rings of Power?" the wizard continued.

"I- A little."

"There were nineteen Rings of Power forged in the beginning," Gandalf explained slowly. "Three for the Elves, seven for the Dwarf lords, and nine for the Men. The purpose of each of the Rings varies, but the power that each carries is the same, in its own way. Each Ring had a Bearer, and every Bearer ran the risk of being consumed by the power and the wills of the Rings they bore, for powerful magic can easily consume all but the strongest of Bearers.

"Eventually, the Dark Lord Sauron created a Ring of his own- the One Ring. It was a Ring that was made to surpass all others, a Ring that could only be used for darkness. He eventually lost the Ring to Isildur, son of Elendil, after he was defeated in battle. The Ring corrupted Isildur, and was eventually lost when Isildur himself was slain at Gladden Fields. Ever since that time, Sauron has struggled to regain his strength and find the Ring again. He nearly accomplished part of his goal in Mirkwood, and was temporarily driven back in to Mordor by the White Council, although I fear that during his time in Mirkwood he was able to gain possession of the last of the Dwarven Rings of Power. The nine Rings of Men are already under his control in the form of the Ringwraiths."

"And… What does any of this have to do with my- the ring that I found?" Bilbo asked cautiously.

"Somehow, Bilbo Baggins, you managed to find the Ring of Power. I can only imagine how it fell into the hands of Gollum, but it is in your possession now. And, from what I have witnessed and from what the other dwarves has described of your recovery, the Ring has already started to awaken. It longs to return to its master who, if he were to get his hands on it, would be unbeatable. The forces of Men, Elves, and Dwarves are not what they once were, and I fear for the fate of Middle Earth if Sauron ever manages to regain power."

"What do you suggest we do, then?" Thorin asked warily.

Gandalf hesitated for a brief moment and turned his gaze to Bilbo, his expression tinged with sadness.

"I have already sent word to the Lady Galadriel in Lothlórien," he whispered. "She wishes to call a council to decide the Ring's fate."

"Lothlórien?" Dwalin repeated harshly. "You wish us to attend a council called by Elves?"

Gandalf nodded, his brow furrowing in disapproval when the other dwarves in the room began to grumble amongst themselves. Dís felt her gaze shift to the two elven royals in the corner. Legolas stared back at her evenly, the faintest hint of irritation in his pale eyes. Dís's face heated with shame and she elbowed her brother in the side once more. Thorin paused mid-grumble and flashed her a small glare, his frown deepening as he took in her expression.

"Dís-," he began.

"You allowed the Elf prince into your personal chambers," she reminded him stubbornly. "And you agreed to let Lord Elrond host you at Rivendell towards the beginning of you journey."

"I did not agree," he hissed. "Gandalf tricked-."

"Thorin," she interrupted. "Please."

When the king of Erebor continued to look mutinous, Dís added, in a quieter voice, "For Bilbo."

Thorin winced and glanced down at the hobbit that was still pressed against his side. Bilbo met his gaze for a brief moment before he turned back to look at the grumbling dwarves, his brow puckered in displeasure. Thorin sighed.

"We will attend the council," he announced, his voice rising easily above the protests of his fellow dwarves.

"We will _what_?" Gimli yelped before he was smacked over the top of the head by his father and uncle.

"_You_ will not be doing anything," Gloin muttered.

Dwalin sighed heavily, his lips turning up slightly when Ori patted him on the shoulder.

"Why does it always have to be elves?" he groaned.

Thranduil smirked at the dwarf's comment and offered Gandalf a small bow.

"I will send my son and several members of my guard as representatives of my kingdom," he promised smoothly. "If the company of Erebor is willing, my people will be more than happy to accompany them to Lothlórien."

A small muscle began to twitch near Thorin's eye as he nodded stiffly, obviously disgusted by the idea. Dain made a low sound of protest from the other end of the room. The King of the Ironhills crossed his arms defiantly in front of his chest when the other inhabitants of the room focused on him, his jaw clenched.

"I trust the dwarves of Erebor to represent the wishes of my people as well," he declared stiffly. "I will stay behind to watch over the Lonely Mountain."

"I must stay behind as well, I think," Bard said slowly. "Laketown needs to be rebuilt, as well as Dale, and I cannot spare any men to send to the council."

"We will keep you informed," Thranduil promised before Thorin could open his mouth.

The King Under the Mountain glowered at the Elvenking before nodding to Bard in a silent promise of his own. Gandalf merely chuckled, his smile fading the moment he met Bilbo's solemn, exhausted gaze.

"Will you bear the Ring to Lothlórien?" he asked quietly.

The hobbit didn't reply immediately. Dís frowned slightly and leaned forward to get a better look at the small being. Her eyebrows rose in silent surprise when Bilbo seemed to reach out and clutch the sleeve of Thorin's coat, almost as if he was reassuring himself that the dwarf king was still there.

"I will," Bilbo whispered.

Gandalf nodded and strode closer to the hobbit so that he could rest a wizened hand on Bilbo's shoulder.

"Thank you," he murmured sincerely. "And I am sorry for the burden that I have placed on you."

Bilbo offered the wizard a small, tremulous smile and shrugged.

"It's quite alright," he replied with forced indifference. "After all, I've carried the blasted thing for this long. What difference does another week or so make?"

Gandalf grimaced delicately and tightened his grip on Bilbo's shoulder.

"It will be closer to a few months, actually," he corrected the hobbit gently. "I am sure that many members of your company would attempt to murder me if I tried to suggest that you leave immediately."

"Ye got that right," Dwalin grumbled.

"And furthermore," Gandalf continued, ignoring the dwarf. "The other members of the council will need additional time to reach Lothlórien. Some of them are travelling great distances to reach the wood."

"I suppose that it would be too much for you to tell us who these 'other members' are?" Thorin guessed wryly, his eyes darkening with concern when he took in the stricken expression in Bilbo's eyes.

Gandalf smiled thinly, his own features creased in similar concern.

"You will find out soon enough, Thorin Oakenshield," he declared solemnly.

The company dispersed soon after the wizard's last statement, until only Dís, Thorin, and Bilbo remained in the room with the Grey Pilgrim. Dís and Thorin moved to exit as well, only to falter when they realized that the hobbit had failed to follow them. Bilbo hesitated by Gandalf's side, his expression conflicted.

"Gandalf," he whispered. "I… How many months, exactly, were you thinking of?"

The wizard shrugged. "Well, I suppose that will depend on how fast the other members can be on their way. Why do you ask?" he asked, his eyes narrowing shrewdly.

"Gandalf," Bilbo hissed, his voice lowering until Dís had to strain her ears to understand his next words. "The Ring, it- what am I supposed to do if it- if it starts talking to me again?"

Gandalf's expression crumbled slightly and he reached out to pull the hobbit into a tight embrace, prompting Thorin to start forward. Dís stopped him with a glare, her skin prickling with unease.

"Oh Bilbo," the wizard whispered sadly. "I wish that you had never encountered this Ring."

"Yes, well," Bilbo huffed, his voice strangely thick. "That doesn't do us much good now, does it?"

Gandalf chuckled and pulled back to ruffle the hobbit's curly hair.

"You truly are a Baggins of Bag End," he commented wryly. Then, in a lower voice, "The Ring has talked to you before, then?"

Bilbo nodded stiffly. "Before, when I was injured, it… it told me to give myself to the orcs. And later, it told me to go to Mordor, to deliver myself to Sauron."

Dís felt her eyes widen and reached out to grip Thorin's arm. Her brother returned the gesture, his gaze fixed intently on the hobbit in front of them.

Gandalf merely nodded, his expression carefully-unreadable.

"And how did you resist the Ring?" he asked casually.

"I nearly didn't," Bilbo confessed miserably. "But…" The hobbit flushed a bright red and flashed Thorin and Dís a quick, panicked look before he leaned closer to the wizard and whispered something in the taller being's ear.

Gandalf blinked in silent surprise, his piercing grey eyes flickering in the dwarves' direction for the briefest of moments before he nodded, his lips twitching in a futile effort to hide his smile.

"Ah," he murmured. "Well, in that case, Master Baggins, I do believe that you will be fine."

"I- what?" Bilbo yelped, obviously shocked.

Gandalf chuckled again and finally pulled away from the hobbit completely, leaving the small creature standing alone near the center of the room.

"Saruman, the leader of my order, believes that dark power can only be defeated by an even greater power," the grey wizard mused. "I have long suspected that the opposite is true- that the smallest actions born of love are enough to keep the darkness at bay. You, Master Baggins, have just proven that I am correct."

Bilbo's blush deepened to a spectacular scarlet and he turned away, his hairy feet pounding silently against the cool stone floor as he hurried to Thorin's side.

"I- Yes, well," the hobbit muttered. "I suppose that that is, well, that. If you will excuse me, I do believe that it is time that we all got some much needed rest."

"Indeed," Gandalf agreed cheerfully, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "I do hope that you enjoy your… rest," he added with a significant glance in Thorin's direction.

Bilbo spluttered something incomprehensible and hurried away, his footsteps slowing for a brief moment so that Thorin could catch up with him. Dís watched them go, her shoulders tensing instinctively when Gandalf rested a warm hand on her shoulder.

"Make sure that someone is with Bilbo as often as possible," the wizard told her quietly.

Dís nodded and gave the wizard a small, swift smile.

"You've seen the way my brother's company acts around Bilbo," she muttered. "Do you honestly think that anything could keep them away from him?"

Gandalf chuckled, although Dís couldn't help but note that the expression didn't quite reach his eyes.

**Okay, so, based on the reviews that I got for the last chapter, I'm going to keep going with this fic to include Bilbo's struggle with the ring. Which means that this little bugger (seriously, it was only supposed to be a oneshot! :o) is going to get a lot longer…**

**So, before we really get in to this next bit of the story arc, I have a few notes (sorry!). First off, I am not a Tolkien expert. At all. So if I make any huge errors in canon that I don't explain later, or if I completely screw up someone's character or some other mistake, please feel free to let me know. Second, based on what my lovely muse/plot-bunny is telling me, this fic will end up being a rewrite of the Lord of the Rings with the characters of the Hobbit (yeah, I know I'm kind of stating the obvious here, but I just figured it would hurt to put it out there). So, obviously, there are going to be some characters from the Lord of the Rings who are making appearances here. Which brings us to the third note:**

**Although I'm going to try and stick to Tolkien's canon as much as I can, I will be making a few changes to the timeline in regards to the ages of several characters. For instance: according to the Appendices at the end of Return of the King, Aragorn is somewhere around the age of 10 during the events of the Hobbit. Since no version of the Lord of the Rings is really complete without him, I'm going to use Peter Jackson's movie as a reference instead of the appendices, since that would put Aragorn in his twenties. We're also going to assume that Arwen and Aragorn have already decided that they love each other because that's more fun (for me, at least), and that Aragorn has already started wandering around as a badass Ranger. I will end up mucking up the timeline for several other characters as well, who you will meet later on. Also, I have no idea what I'm going to do with Saruman right now, so let's just ignore him for the time being~**

**Finally (and, again, I am so sorry for how long this note is…), I'm just going to leave you guys with the current rulers of Rohan and Gondor, since they become kind of important later on and obviously Théoden, Éowyn, Faramir, and Boromir aren't around yet. During the Hobbit, Ecthelion is the Steward of Gondor (he is apparently a pretty cool dude). Like Aragorn, Ecthelion's son, Denethor (also known as that crazy dude who sets himself on fire during the Return of the King and is a total jerk to Faramir) is older in this fic than he is supposed to be in Tolkien's canon. He also HATES Aragorn because Aragorn once served Ecthelion and became a favorite of the steward, which made Denethor jealous. Thengel (you know, Théoden's father) is also in Gondor right about now (I think… like I said, I'm kind of tweaking canon) because **_**his**_** father, Fengel, really sucks at being King of Rohan and basically drove Thengel out of Rohan due to their… differences. Basically, Fengel is just incredibly greedy and fights a lot with his advisors and children (he has several daughters, with Thengel as his only son). And… yeah. I think that should be about it. Don't be afraid to ask me any questions about this, and please feel free to let me know if I have totally screwed something out.**

**Thank you so much for sticking with me this far, and please let me know what you guys think, okay?**


	7. Chapter 7

"Where are you going, again?"

Gandalf chuckled slightly and glanced down at the small mob of dwarves and one hobbit that had been following him around the mountain for most of the past week.

"I've already explained myself several times, Master Dwarf," he replied airily, earning himself a dark scowl from Gimli.

"No, you didn't," the youngest dwarf countered. "You just said that you were leaving for Orc-thanks."

"Orthanc," Gandalf corrected automatically. He paused and shot Gimli an assessing glance, his lips twitching up into a small smile. "I must go and speak with Saruman, the leader of my order. He is the White Council's expert on the Ring of Sauron, and he may be able to give us some advice on how to proceed."

Gimli nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. Gandalf caught a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye and glanced up to see Legolas walking towards them. A silver mare trotted behind the elf prince, her dark eyes kind. Gandalf smiled and reached out towards the horse, his smile widening when the animal moved to his side without hesitation. The dwarves surrounding Gandalf hastily stepped away from the wizard as the large horse drew closer, until only Bilbo remained by his side. The hobbit's eyes were troubled beneath his honey-brown hair, although Gandalf noted with relief that Bilbo did not seem to be as tormented as he had been when the Ring was first discovered.

"You do promise that you will come back before the Council, don't you?" he asked quietly.

The wizard chuckled once more and crouched down until he was nearly at eye-level with the hobbit, his arms held open in silent invitation. Bilbo hurried into Gandalf's embrace without hesitation, his thin arms wrapping around the wizard's neck with surprising strength.

"I will do my best to return in time to accompany you to Lothlórien," he assured Bilbo.

Gandalf felt a small pang of foreboding go through him as the hobbit smiled up at him, his gentle blue eyes full of trust. The wizard shook himself and returned the smaller being's smile, his grey eyes flickering across the faces of the dwarves that had come with Bilbo to say farewell in an effort to distract himself.

"Have the other members of the company decided not to come and see me off?" he asked with false outrage.

"Hardly," Thorin's voice boomed from the other side of Erebor's half-ruined entrance hall. Dís, Dwalin, Balin, Dori, Oin and Gloin shadowed the dwarf king's footsteps as they moved to join Bilbo and the remaining members of the company. Gandalf felt his lips twitch with a barely-restrained smile when Thorin drew close to the hobbit, his calloused fingers barely brushing against the back of Bilbo's hand.

In the aftermath of the Battle of the Five Armies, as Ori had timidly dubbed the ordeal, it had become rare for Thorin to leave Bilbo's side for longer than an hour. Even in the midst of negotiations with Bard and Dain over the future of Dale and Erebor, the hobbit was often seated within arm's reach of the king. Despite a few spluttered objections to his sudden inclusion in political meetings, Bilbo didn't appear to mind the dwarf king's attentions. The frequent interactions between the king and the hobbit had become a source of never-ending amusement for Gandalf, although he noticed that his amusement had not extended to Dís and her sons, who barely bothered to hide their frustration at Bilbo and Thorin's inability to openly acknowledge their feelings for each other.

"We had to inspect a few of the mines before we could come and see you," Thorin explained, oblivious to the wizard's thoughts.

Gandalf merely raised his eyebrows in polite interest, his lips twitching again when he caught the concerned look that Bilbo sent in the dwarf king's direction.

"Aren't you still supposed to be resting?" the hobbit asked wryly, his gaze flickering towards the bandages that were barely visible beneath Thorin's tunic.

Thorin shifted with the barest hint of discomfort and shrugged. "There are many things in Erebor that require my attention. I can't afford to rest when there is still work to be done."

"We threatened to tie him to the bed," Dís broke in flatly. "I don't think he believed us."

Thorin shook his head with a small smile, only to pause when he caught sight of Bilbo's expression.

"Foolish dwarf," Bilbo chided lightly. "Never underestimate a woman when she sets her mind to something."

"Are you speaking from experience, Master Baggins?" Thorin shot back.

Bilbo merely laughed and turned back to Gandalf, apparently oblivious to the flash of jealous curiosity that appeared in Thorin's eyes for the briefest of moments. The wizard barely held back his own laugh and carefully pulled himself into the saddle of his horse. He saw Bilbo's smile fade and felt another flash of unease in his gut.

"I will return shortly," he promised, both to himself and to the throng of faces that stared up at him gravely. "Isengard is not so far from Erebor, and I should be able to return before the month is out if the weather is good." He hesitated and glanced down at Bilbo again, his eyes lingering on the large blue jacket that covered the hobbit's shoulders in place of his usual coat.

Bilbo hadn't dared to touch the Ring after the test with the fire. The Ring, and the coat that carried it, had remained in Thorin's personal chambers, and at least two members of the Company were always posted outside of the door whenever Bilbo was absent from the room. Although Gandalf had held a few private doubts over the ability of the dwarves to resist the Ring's influence, it appeared that the Company's recent brush with gold-lust had made them more resistant to the call of cursed gold for the time being. It didn't hurt matters that the Ring had apparently remained silent since Bilbo's recovery, though Gandalf couldn't help but wonder how long the silence would last…

"If I do not return within the month," the wizard added slowly, his eyes flickering between Thorin and Bilbo's attentive faces. "Or if something should occur that puts the safety of the Ring in jeopardy, I want you to go to Lothlórien without me. The elves of Mirkwood will be able to show you the way to the forest of Lórien, and the Lady Galadriel will welcome you to her kingdom with or without my presence. Do you understand?"

"Perfectly," Thorin replied curtly, his fingers twitching as if they longed to curl around the hobbit's smaller hand.

Bilbo merely nodded, his blue eyes darkening with fear once more. Gandalf flashed the hobbit a reassuring smile and waved in farewell to the others before he set out for Isengard.

*Bagginshield*Bagginshield*Bagginshield*

"...Bofur and Gloin believe that we can start sending teams into the western mines as early as tomorrow, although I believe that Dain has his doubts about the venture. Most of the dwarves from the Iron Hills are not miners, and the reinforcements from the Iron Hills should arrive within the week. According to Dain, several of our miners from the Blue Mountains had travelled to the Iron Hills after our Company left, so it is likely that they will be among the reinforcements that are coming now. It might be wise to wait until they arrive before we start looking into the mines," Balin reported. The old dwarf paced slowly across the length of the meeting room, his sharp eyes narrowed thoughtfully above his snowy beard.

"I agree," Dís added. "Although perhaps it would be better to at least send some men down into the mines before the other dwarves arrive, just to make sure that the tunnels are safe for mining?"

"Who would we send down?" Balin countered. "Bofur and Gloin are knowledgeable enough, and I know that Dori and Oin are both skilled in engineering, but four dwarves are hardly enough to send into one of the largest areas of the mines."

"Then send some of Dain's men," she argued.

"We don' know if any of Dain's men have the skill," Dwalin reminded her gruffly.

"And I suppose it's too difficult to simply ask him?" Dís shot back. "I do believe that my cousin would know if any of his men were willing and able to investigate some of the mines of Erebor."

Dwalin huffed and glanced over at Thorin.

"What do you think?" he asked.

The King of Erebor jumped slightly and flashed Dwalin a blank look, his cheeks flushing with the smallest hint of red as he slowly caught up with the conversation.

"Ah… I agree with Balin," he answered hastily.

"Really?" Dís said dryly.

Thorin glared balefully at his sister, his hands twitching instinctively towards the hobbit that usually rested by his side. Dwalin snorted at the gesture and turned away before Thorin could glare at _him_ as well, his smile widening when he caught sight of his older brother's slight smirk.

"What's on your mind, Thorin?" Balin asked casually. "Obviously not mining."

Thorin ignored the older dwarf's wry comment and glanced towards the hallway that Bilbo had been dragged into by a pair of grinning dwarven princes several minutes ago.

"…What do you think he meant by that laugh earlier?" the dwarf king said slowly.

"Oh _Mahal_, not this again," Dwalin groaned, earning himself another glare from his old friend.

"Thorin," Dís broke in before her brother could attack the guard. "We've already been over this- obviously, Bilbo has been around enough women in his lifetime to know that we are always right."

Thorin rolled his eyes.

"But what _kind_ of women?" he muttered to himself. "He doesn't have any sisters… at least, I don't think that he has any. Gandalf didn't say whether or not the hobbit had any siblings, and I didn't see the need to ask until now."

"Why don't you ask Bilbo?" Balin suggested.

"Wouldn't that be a miracle?" Dís grumbled. "Imagine, Thorin actually having a conversation with Master Baggins."

"Bilbo and I have plenty of conversations," Thorin objected, his dark blue eyes flashing with defensive fury.

"Yes, but not about anything _important_!" his sister yelled back. "Tell me, Thorin, have you told the hobbit that you wish to court him?"

Dwalin watched Thorin's cheeks darken into a deeper shade of red and felt his lips tremble with the effort of holding back his laughter. Mahal, he hadn't seen Thorin Oakenshield this flustered since before Smaug's arrival…

"I… have not found the right time to approach Bilbo in regards to this matter," the King Under the Mountain said stiffly.

"Ah," Dís sneered. "Well, then, have you at least told Bilbo that you admire him?"

"I-."

"Have you mentioned _anything_ about how devastated you were when you thought that he was dead? Don't bother to deny it," she added hotly when Thorin opened his mouth to object. "Fíli, Kíli, and Dwalin have all informed me that you looked absolutely destroyed when Azog claimed that he had murdered your hobbit."

Dwalin didn't even flinch when Thorin shot him a betrayed look. The dwarven warrior simply lifted his shoulders in a slight shrug, stubbornly ignoring the amused glances that he was now receiving from his brother.

"I have not," Thorin admitted grudgingly. "It hardly seems relevant-."

"Please tell me that you two have at least talked about that fiasco with the Arkensto-."

"Enough!" Thorin barked, his expression suddenly harsh with barely-restrained anger.

Dís fell silent immediately and watched her brother through wary blue eyes. Dwalin frowned and made to move towards Thorin's side, only to be beaten by his own sibling. Balin shot the other two dwarves warning glances before he carefully place himself in front of the fuming king, his pale eyes darkening with concern when Thorin refused to meet his eyes.

"Lad," Balin prompted gently. "Why haven't you talked to Bilbo about any of this? It's rather obvious that you care for him, and I highly doubt that Bilbo would reject your advances."

"I don't deserve him," Thorin interrupted quietly, his voice suddenly raw with a vulnerability that Dwalin hadn't seen in years.

Dís and Balin frowned in unison at this statement. The princess of Erebor moved to join Balin, only to hesitate when Thorin hastily turned away from her advance.

"Why do you feel that you are unworthy?" she demanded, her voice noticeably softer than it had been earlier. "You are a member of the line of Durin and the King of Erebor. Surely-."

"It is not my title that matters," Thorin snapped. "It is… it is what I have done with that title."

Dís's frown deepened and she took another step towards her brother, obviously confused. Dwalin, however, realized with a sudden jolt that he understood perfectly.

"Ye're afraid of the gold-sickness," he guessed flatly, causing Dís to freeze mid-step.

Thorin's jaw clenched and he nodded stiffly, his blue eyes fixed stubbornly on the wall above Balin's head.

"I am afraid that I may not be completely cured of the sickness," he admitted tightly. "And I fear going back into the treasury to see whether or not I have recovered. I have not even looked at the… at the Arkenstone. I had Bard and Fíli take it into one of the vaults after the battle."

"Thorin," Balin whispered. "You know that Bilbo does not blame you for the gold-sickness. Even if it did return, he would not abandon you because of it. He would try and help you- we all would," the old warrior added, his shoulders slumping slightly under the remains of past guilt.

Dwalin frowned and nodded in agreement, although his heart clenched at the memory of the pain that Thorin's sickness had caused the Company. Balin had been furious with the king after the banishment of Bilbo, and even gentle Ori had refused to speak to their leader almost until the very beginning of the battle. Dwalin's steadfast refusal to abandon his place at Thorin's side, despite his own anger over his king's treatment of the hobbit, had briefly driven a wedge between him and the young scribe until the Battle of the Five Armies pulled them together again.

Thorin merely shook his head in response to Balin's words, his expression troubled.

"I was cruel to Bilbo in my sickness," he murmured. "I cast him away, and he nearly paid for my mistake with his life. How can I dare to offer myself to Bilbo as a protector and a- a lover if I cannot even protect him from myself?"

"Thorin-," Balin tried again, only to fall silent when the king shook his head wearily.

"No," Thorin Oakenshield said firmly. "I will not ask for Bilbo's affections until I am certain that I will not betray him again."

"And when will you be certain?" Dís asked before she could stop herself.

The King Under the Mountain shrugged miserably and turned away, his muscles tensing slightly when Dwalin moved automatically to shadow his footsteps.

"I don't know," Thorin admitted quietly.

*Bagginshield*Bagginshield*Bagginshield*

The gate to Isengard opened before Gandalf had come within ten feet of the wall. The grey wizard slowed his horse into a walk and glanced up at the two roughly-hewn guard towers that had been added to the gate, his eyes searching for the men that were manning the doors. The windows of the towers were already closed by thick black shades, although Gandalf thought that he saw the briefest glimpse of cold, yellow eyes peering down at him from the darkness.

He felt the horse tremble beneath him and bent down to give her a reassuring pat on the neck, although he couldn't help the way his own skin seemed to crawl with unease and distaste the closer they got to Saruman's black tower.

"There used to be trees here," he murmured to the creature as they walked slowly towards the foot of the tower, his eyes ghosting across the dried, dark earth and rumbling, smoking pits that now surrounded the tower of Orthanc. "Many trees. I wonder what he has done with them."

"Gandalf," Saruman's voice called from the bottom of the tower. "Gandalf the Grey."

Gandalf straightened and glanced in the direction of the white wizard's voice, his eyes settling on a pale white figure that had appeared at the top of the polished black stairs leading up to Orthanc's entrance. Gandalf slid easily from his saddle and spared the horse a brief pat before he made his way towards Saruman. The other wizard watched him approach in silence, his eyes gleaming with a strange sort of light beneath his long white hair. The grey wizard faltered slightly when he caught sight of the odd smile that twisted his comrade's lips, his blood suddenly cold with the unease that had plagued him back in Erebor.

"Saruman," he greeted, struggling to keep his voice light.

"I had wondered when you would show up," Saruman mused airily, his thin lips curving up into something that could almost be called a smirk.

"You have been expecting me?" Gandalf asked with forced calm.

The white wizard simply nodded and gestured for his old friend to follow him inside of the tower. Gandalf did so warily, taking in the dark, metallic appearance of Orthanc's interior with rising alarm as they made their way through Saruman's halls.

"You have redecorated, I see," he observed.

Saruman ignored the remark and settled himself on a large black throne that had been placed near the center of a large, circular room. A single pedestal covered in shimmering cloth rose from the tiled floor in the exact center of the room, its dark marble surface glinting in the weak sunlight that had managed to break through one of Saruman's shades.

"Indeed," the white wizard mused. "I have seen a lot of things lately, Gandalf the Grey. Many, many things."

"Would you care to share any of these things?" Gandalf demanded, his voice sharpening despite his best efforts as his unease continued to mount.

Saruman smiled thinly.

"Perhaps," was all he said.

There was silence between the two wizards for a long moment. Gandalf turned away from Saruman's piercing gaze to better study the pedestal. He was strangely drawn to it, he realized, his mind reaching for the mystery beneath the cloth even as it recoiled from the shadows that seemed to have fallen across all of the white wizard's belongings.

"Do you like it?" Saruman inquired, noting the wizard's interest in the pedestal.

"That would depend," Gandalf replied carefully. "It is rather difficult to like or dislike something that I cannot see."

Saruman chuckled and hastily descended from his throne, his fingers trembling slightly before he pulled the cloth away with a flourish. Gandalf stumbled away from the uncovered black orb as if he had been struck, his eyes widening in alarm.

"Saruman," he hissed. "You know that we are not supposed to use the Palantir except in times of great need. We do not know who else has control of the orbs-."

"Ah, but I do," the white wizard purred. "I know many things now, Gandalf, many things that would have been hidden from me if I had not looked into the orb. Power is not to be feared, my friend. That has always been your problem, you know. You fear power even when it is your only hope for victory- that is why you have failed."

"Why did you decide to use this?" Gandalf demanded, his heart pounding in response to Saruman's words. The white wizard's eyes were glowing now, their dark color lit with a light that could not be found in sane men.

"Dol Guldur," Saruman whispered reverently. "Our Council was nearly defeated by the Necromancer, and we were almost too late to thwart his plans. If we had only known about the plot earlier, something more could have been done. We could have saved so much energy, so much time…"

"I did warn you earlier, at Rivendell," Gandalf reminded him cautiously. "I showed you the blade-."

"I was troubled after the Necromancer fell," the white wizard continued, oblivious to his companion's comment. "Our lack of power- our lack of _information_- plagued me until I reached my home. I saw the Palantir the moment I entered, as if it had been waiting for me. Such a wise stone," he chortled. "It knew what I needed before I knew it myself.

"I resisted, of course. Foolish being that I am, I clung to the orders that had been handed down to us. And yet my unease continued, and eventually I could contain myself no longer. I looked in the orb, hoping to make sure that there was no more trouble rising on the horizon…"

Saruman paused and seemed to recall Gandalf's presence. The older wizard studied his companion with narrowed eyes, his expression suddenly dark.

"You failed to mention the Ring at Rivendell," he observed coolly.

"The Ring had not yet come to my knowledge then-."

"And you failed to mention it at Dol Guldur as well," Saruman interrupted. "You neglected to tell me, when it could have saved so much time. Using the power of the Ring, we could have destroyed Sauron in that very minute. The evil that hangs over Middle-Earth would be vanquished, and we would finally be allowed to bestow upon these ignorant mortals the peace and harmony that we have always longed for."

"Saruman, you know as well as I do that the Ring answers only to Sauron, we cannot wield it," Gandalf snapped. He paused as the other wizard's words finally sank in and tightened his grip on his staff. "What evil?"

"The power of Sauron is rising, Gandalf," Saruman hissed. "Even with his defeat at Dol Guldur, he has continued to grow. The orcs have abandoned their usual haunts and flock to him, and Uruk-hai begin to rise again from the deep. The flames of Mordor have been rekindled, and Barad-dûr has been rebuilt. As we speak, the armies of Mordor prepare to march on Gondor, the last line of defense in the south. The Nine have left the Black Gate in search of the Ring."

Gandalf felt the blood drain from his face, his thoughts flying immediately to the small, weak hobbit that he had left in Erebor. He turned to leave the tower, only to find his way blocked by two hulking black creatures.

"Uruk-hai," he muttered, shocked. "What-?"

"The forces of the Free People are not what they once were," Saruman called, his voice almost pleading. "The Last Alliance of Elves and Men is nearly broken. They will never defeat Mordor now."

"And you propose to join forces with the darkness, then?" Gandalf counted, struggling to keep his voice steady. "Is that what your Palantir has told you to do?"

The white wizard smirked and glided to Gandalf's side, his thin fingers cool as they pressed against the other wizard's sleeve.

"We could overthrow him," he whispered silkily. "You and I, Gandalf, together. Sauron will be weakened by his conquest- he will be no match for us. With the Ring, we could defeat him and take his place. We could create a better world, a _peaceful_ world. All you need to do is tell me where you have taken the Ring- tell me who bears it now."

"Tell me," Gandalf snarled, his blood boiling with rising anger. "When did the wisdom of Saruman give way to _madness_?"

The white wizard grimaced delicately and stepped away. With a casual flick of his wrist, he stole the staff from Gandalf's hand, leaving him unarmed before the Uruk-hai.

"Such a shame," he murmured. "But perhaps it is for the better. You were always too soft for these sorts of things."

Gandalf stiffened and prepared to lunge at the other wizard, only to have his muscles freeze and lock in place with a simple wave of Saruman's hand. He saw the black, distorted faces of the Uruk-hai move towards him, felt their hot breath waft over his face as they leaned closer and raised their crooked blades.

Then darkness descended, and he knew no more.

**So, I decided what to do about Saruman :3 Anyways, sorry if the beginning of this was a bit rough. I'll be at the beach for the next week or so, so this is the last update that you'll have for a little while. (yeah, sorry for my cruelty… I don't mean to be evil, I truly don't).**

**Please let me know what you guys think, and feel free to tell me if I have totally screwed something up (or if you have anything that you want me to clear up.)**

**Thanks to everyone who has been reading this so far, and I should probably mention that I don't own The Hobbit, or the Lord of the Rings. That credit belongs to Tolkien and, to some extent, Peter Jackson because I love his movies.**


	8. Chapter 8

Fíli and Kíli crouched behind the newly-repaired door to the kitchens, their eyes and fingers flickering and twitching in a silent code that no one had ever been able to crack (although Thorin had come close several decades ago). After a few silent moments, the brothers nodded stiffly. Fíli instinctively shifted further away from the door, while Kíli straightened and rocked back onto his heels, his hands delving into the folds of his tunic to retrieve a small alabaster jar. With another small nod in the direction of his brother, the youngest member of the line of Durin waltzed casually into the kitchens, his lips already curled into the mischievous half-smile that many dwarves in the Blue Mountains had learned to fear.

Luckily for him, the dwarves of the Iron Hills were a little slow on the uptake.

"Rolin!" he called cheerfully.

The red-haired dwarf turned immediately at the sound of his name, his thick fingers curled anxiously around the handle of a black ladle. The timid dwarf had become a favorite with Bombur and his recently-arrived wife, and his tendency to jump at the slightest noise had quickly endeared him to the young princes of Erebor.

"Y-Your highness," Rolin stammered, his voice oddly-high for a dwarf of his tall stature.

Kíli's smile widened and he skipped cheerfully to the other dwarf's side. He clapped a hand onto Rolin's shoulder, his shoulders shaking with barley-restrained laughter when the dwarf flinched in response.

"How many times have I told you, Rolin, you can just call me Kíli," he chided lightly. "I'm only a simple dwarf, really. Give me a mug of ale and a bit of roast meat and I'm as happy as an Elf in a tree!"

Rolin grimaced automatically at the mention of Elves and flashed the prince a tentative smile, although Kíli noted the way the red-head's brown eyes flickered towards the cauldron that was boiling merrily atop a roaring fire.

"Alright then… K-K-Kíli," he whispered.

"Kíli!"

The youngest prince of Erebor bit back a groan and turned towards the new voice with a ready smile as Bombur strode into the kitchen, his expression caught between suspicion and exasperated amusement.

"Bombur!" Kíli called, his ears straining to hear the faint shuffling from the doorway that meant that Fíli had gotten away. "How's Mim?"

"Fine," Bombur replied casually. "She's helping the kids settle into their new home as we speak."

"Good, that's… good," Kíli said, his smile faltering slightly under Bombur's piercing gaze.

"What do you want, Kíli?" the large dwarf demanded.

"I- Can't a dwarf visit some of his dear friends in the kitchen?" the prince asked with mock outrage. "Really, Bombur, I can't believe that you-."

The door to the kitchen flew open, cutting off the rest of the young dwarf's words. Kíli blinked and slowly turned in the direction of the newest arrival, his eyes widening in shock when he saw a grim-faced Bofur standing in the doorway. The miner's hand was latched securely around the arm of the older prince of Erebor, much to Fíli's obvious dismay.

"Afternoon, Bombur," Bofur called. "Rolin. Mind if I borrow Kíli for a bit? Dís wants to speak with him."

"Mahal," Kíli groaned.

Bombur smiled tightly, his dark eyes concerned as he studied his brother's features.

"Everything alright?" he asked.

Bofur nodded stiffly, his eyes flickering warily towards Rolin. Kíli frowned and slowly moved to follow Bofur and Fíli out of the kitchen, his hand tightening instinctively around the dagger that Fíli had forced him to tuck into his belt.

"What's going on?" he demanded.

Bofur shook his head and hurried forward, leaving the two princes scrambling to keep up.

*Bagginshield*Bagginshield*Bagginshield*

Nori watched his brother pace restlessly from the shadows, his eyes flickering every so often to the dimly-lit corridor that led towards Thorin's chambers and the Ring that was hidden inside of it. Most of the company had already gathered around the doors of the chamber, although only Bilbo remained inside of the rooms (much to the hobbit's dismay). Even Ori and a reluctant Balin had been sent back to guard the doors, leaving Dwalin to guard Thorin and Dís in the throne room.

Dori abruptly stopped pacing, immediately grabbing his brother's attention. Nori slipped further into the shadows and watched as three figures hurried towards his older brother. A silent sigh broke through his lips when the thief recognized Bofur and the two princes. The normally-cheerful miner managed a small, tight smile when he caught sight of Dori, his dark eyes flickering across the rest of the corridor as if he was searching for something. Nori felt a small smile of his own flicker across his lips; the miner knew him too well.

"Dori," Bofur greeted lightly. "Everyone else here?"

"Everyone except Dwalin," Dori replied quietly. "He refused to leave Thorin, although Balin and Ori were forced to join us."

Bofur chuckled humorlessly, apparently oblivious to the half-alarmed, questioning looks that Fíli and Kíli were sending his way.

"Bet Ori isn't too happy about that, eh?" he guessed.

Dori huffed, his jaw clenching as it always did any time he was reminded of his youngest brother's devotion to the gruff dwarf guard. Nori chuckled quietly, only to freeze when Bofur flashed him a quick, amused glance. The miner winked briefly and deliberately turned back to Dori and the two princes of Erebor, taking care to block Dori's view of the area where Nori was hiding. The thief felt another, softer smile rise to his lips and mouthed a quick, silent thanks to Bofur before he carefully slipped away, his fingers searching the stone walls for a small crack that he had stumbled upon shortly after they first entered the mountain. He paused when he found the crack that he was looking for and gave the wall next to it a firm shove. The stones slid away with a dim _crack_, revealing a small square of black underneath.

"What was that?" Kíli's voice called from his place beside Bofur and Fíli.

Nori chuckled and ducked into the dark tunnel, his brother's muffled curses echoing in his ears.

_Now, then_, the thief thought cheerfully. _To the throne room._

*Bagginshield*Bagginshield*Bagginshield*

Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain, son of Thror, was _not_ afraid.

He had faced hordes of orcs, goblins, and wargs. He had stared death in the face multiple times. He had experienced the soul-crushing despair of losing his One, and continued to live with the dull ache that came from losing too many loved ones to the violence of war. He had been through too much, and had lived for too long, to be afraid.

Or, at least, that was what he would tell Dwalin later when the older dwarf half-heartedly teased him about the blood that rushed from his face when the creature walked into the throne room.

Thorin held back a shudder and forced his gaze to remain steady as the dark, towering creature glided towards his throne. He felt Dwalin and Dís tense beside him and quietly reached out to press his fingers against his sister's wrist in a sign of support. Dain stood farther behind the royal family, his stiffened shoulders braced against the hidden door that Thranduil and Bard had hastily been shoved through moments after Erebor had been alerted to the creature's arrival by a shaking guard from the gates.

"Hail and well met, Thorin Oakensssshield," the creature hissed. "King Under the Mountain."

Thorin bowed his head in stiff acknowledgement of the creature's words and waited for it to continue. The thing seemed to smirk beneath the layers of black cloth that had been wrapped around its face and its rattling breaths echoed harshly in the cavernous throne room.

"I bring tidingsss from the kingdom of Mordor," it continued silkily. "The Dark Lord offersss friendssship to the dwarves of Erebor… and the Iron Hillssss," it added, its dark face turning for the briefest of moments to glance at Dain.

The ruler of the Iron Hills stiffened but said nothing, his sharp eyes narrowed with suspicion and fear as he studied the creature that stood before Thorin.

"Tell your lord that we acknowledge his offer," Thorin replied curtly, his throat working with the effort of holding back a snarl. "But we cannot-."

"Ah, ah, ah," the creature interrupted. "Bessst hear what he hasss to offer firsssst, your highnessssss. Isssn't that what rulersss are ssssuposssed to do? Conssssider all the optionssss?"

Thorin's eyes narrowed and he leaned forward to spear the creature with a glare, his fingers curling reflexively around the sword that rested against his throne. Dwalin's rough hand on his shoulder pulled him back, although Thorin noted that his guard seemed to be having trouble restraining himself as well.

"Speak, then," the King Under the Mountain snapped.

A raspy chuckle filled the throne room.

"The Dark Lord offersss you an alliance against the racesss of Men and Elvessss," it hissed. "He offersss you the Sssseven Ringsss of Power, the ringssss that rightfully belong to you and to your descendantssss."

Thorin sagged back into his throne, his eyes wide with shock. Dimly, he was aware of Dain's muffled cry of surprise and Dís's gasp. Dwalin's fingers tightened painfully around his shoulder.

"In exchange," the creature continued, obviously pleased with their reaction. "The Dark Lord only wishesss that you deliver one, ssssmall thing to him."

"What is it?" Thorin croaked, his mind still whirling with images of a ring that gleamed proudly on his grandfather's finger.

"The hobbit."

Silence fell across the throne room, broken only by the creature's rasping breaths. Thorin stiffened once more, the images of rings banished by the thought of gentle blue eyes and a familiar face stained with blood.

"….What?" he managed finally.

"The hobbit that wassss among your company," the creature explained sharply. "My master would like to borrow him for his own purposessss for a ssshort while. Ssssimply tell usss where he isss and the ringssss are yoursss-."

"No," Thorin said flatly.

The creature froze. Behind him, Thorin heard Dain suck in a low, steadying breath and silently prayed that the other dwarf leader would stand by his decision.

"What?" the creature snarled.

"The hobbit that you have mentioned is no longer a member of my company," Thorin stated flatly. "He was banished on pain of death for betraying my people. We have recently received word that he was killed by Azog the White Orc hours before Azog himself met his demise at our doorstep."

The creature stared in Thorin's direction for a long moment, its harsh breaths somehow louder and sharper in the tense atmosphere of the throne room. Thorin glared back at it, his lips curled in a silent challenge. After a few moments, the shadowed figure turned and began to stalk back to the door of the throne room, its clawed fingers curled around the hilt of the sword strapped to its hip.

"I will return sssssoon," it hissed before it left the room. "Be sssssure to have more pleasssssant newsss. The Dark Lord doessss not appreciate it when hisssss plansss go awry."

"I'll keep that in mind," Thorin replied airily.

He waited until another guard had stumbled back to report that the creature and its dark mount had left the gates of Erebor before he leapt off of his throne. Stone scraped against stone behind him as Thranduil and Bard were released from their secret hole, although the two taller beings now seemed to be joined by a dwarf with star-shaped hair and a shrewd glint in his eyes.

Dwalin groaned and shot Nori a harsh glare.

"Thought I told the rest of the Company to help guard our burglar," he growled.

Nori shrugged, his eyes locked intently on Thorin.

"So," the thief called casually. "What's your plan?"

Thorin shrugged and turned away, his hands trembling slightly at his sides. He stiffened when his sister's fingers wrapped firmly around his arm and turned to look at her for a long moment, his eyes lingering on the unmistakeable fear in her eyes.

"We need to get Bilbo out of here," she hissed. "We've already waited too long to take him to Lothlórien."

Thorin glared at her. "We were not ready-."

"Gandalf told us to leave without him if he wasn't back by the end of the month," Dís snapped. "It's been _three months_, Thorin. By Mahal, it's a miracle nothing has come for Bilbo before this."

"Bilbo was still too weak to travel two months ago," Thorin snapped. "I was only trying to help him-."

"Aye, and the fact that ye were too weak to go with him didn' matter at all," Dwalin drawled, ignoring the fierce scowl that he earned from Thorin as a result. "Dís is right, we should have followed Gandalf's instructions an' left before this. We've been over this before- even Bilbo's begged ye to let us go before this."

"And yet the fact remains that Master Baggins is still here," Thranduil broke in coolly. "Instead of wasting time criticizing your king for his stupidity, might I suggest we focus on how best to get your hobbit to Lothlórien without attracting the attention of Mordor?"

"We'll have to leave," Thorin muttered, pointedly ignoring the elf's comment on his intelligence. "Immediately. Dwalin, how fast can the Company be ready-."

"A company of thirteen dwarves and one hobbit will be too noticeable, even without the guards from Mirkwood," Bard broke in. "We need to focus on secrecy, not numbers."

"Bilbo needs to be protected," Thorin argued. "There are still orcs out there, and goblins, not to mention whatever that _thing_ was. He needs a guard-."

"And how much use will a guard be when it is surrounded by all the force that Mordor can muster?" Thranduil countered. "Sauron will do whatever it takes to get the Ring, Thorin. I'm not sure that you understand how much he _needs_ it-."

"Do not talk to me as if I were a child," Thorin snapped.

"I will when you stop acting like a _boy_," the Elvenking retorted icily.

Thorin snarled and turned away from the King of Mirkwood to pace across the narrow stretch of stone in front of his throne. The others watched him silently, waiting.

"If I go with four trusted members of my company," he said finally. "Will that be small enough?"

"Six," Dís corrected before anyone else could say anything. "My sons will go with you," she added in response to Thorin's questioning gaze.

Thorin felt his expression harden and he straightened slightly, his fingers clenched tightly into fists. "No."

"Yes," she snapped. "Unless you would rather have _me_ with you?"

"Absolutely not!" Thorin barked, his voice joined by Dain and Dwalin's added protests.

"Well, then," the princess of Erebor smirked. "I will not allow my brother to go across Middle-Earth without his family. Besides, I'd never hear the end of it from my boys if they weren't allowed to go, and they'd only follow you and get themselves into trouble along the way."

"A journey to Lothlórien hardly counts as a jaunt across Middle-Earth," Thorin grumbled.

Dís merely glared at him, her dark blue eyes sad and knowing.

"You really think that it will end there?" she murmured. "Don't you see, Thorin? Lothlórien… it will only be the beginning."

"Fíli and Kíli are my heirs," Thorin pointed out in a last-ditch argument.

"Then you had better make sure that they return home alive," his sister said sweetly.

Thorin groaned and whirled away from his sister, his eyes meeting Dwalin's calculating gaze across the room. His oldest friend nodded slowly as if he had just decided on something and straightened up.

"We'll take a member of each family that was in the Company," the guard declared gruffly. "Whichever person they send is up ta them."

Thorin nodded curtly and turned to glance at Nori, who had been watching the proceedings carefully.

"Inform the others. We need to leave before dawn tomorrow."

The thief bowed and hurried back into the room that he had exited with Thranduil and Bard, his retreating footsteps echoing quietly in the cavernous throne room before they disappeared entirely.

"I will ride with you to the borders of Mirkwood," Thranduil stated after a long moment. "My son will take my place and guide you to our kin in Lothlórien."

"Will you send no more guards?" Thorin demanded warily.

The Elvenking smiled thinly.

"Your dwarf guard is already large enough," he commented dryly. "And my son is more than capable of defending himself."

Thorin sighed but nodded and hastily turned to Bard and Dain.

"I trust you both to assist my sister in my absence," he said, his tone somewhat softer than it had been before. "And I apologize for the burden that I have placed upon you."

Bard shrugged. "You helped my people when they were in need and sheltered us until we could begin to rebuild. I welcome the chance to repay our debt to you."

Dain snorted and nodded as well, although his eyes remained calculating as they took Thorin in.

"….You turned down the rings of our forefathers," he pointed out.

"I know," Thorin replied, his muscles tensing underneath the older ruler's gaze.

"Why?" Dain pressed.

Thorin's gaze flew to the empty hole above his throne that had once housed the Arkenstone. He shuddered.

"There are some things that are more important than gold and power," he murmured. "And I find that I have grown to dislike rings."

**Well, there goes another chapter… Hopefully we'll be able to get to the council in Lothlórien soon. Anyways, please let me know what you guys think so far, and feel free to point out any mistakes or ask me any questions about anything! And thank you all so much for reading/reviewing this story- you guys rock! :3**


	9. Chapter 9

"I'm going."

"Ori, it's already been decided-."

"I'm going."

"Really, there's no need for such fuss. You know, I didn't even want you to go on the _last_ quest, and it's not like you'll really be missing all that mu-."

"I. Am. _Going_," Ori snarled. The young dwarf felt a brief flash of satisfaction go through him when his eldest brother took a hasty step back, his brown eyes wide with surprise.

Nori merely huffed, unimpressed, and started to walk towards the smooth oaken door that had recently been added to their rooms.

"And where do you think _you're_ going?" Dori demanded before the thief could even reach the door.

Nori shrugged.

"As I've said before, I have no interest in going on this trip," he said casually. "Both of you have made your own intentions clear enough- I leave it to the two of you to sort things out."

"But- I- This is supposed to be a family decision," Dori spluttered.

"I will not choose a side," the middle brother replied quietly, his voice firm.

When neither Dori nor Ori offered any other protests, the thief quickly made his way to the door and pulled it open, only to hastily step aside as Dwalin hurried into the room. The large guard paused several steps away from the doorway and offered a hasty bow to a glaring Dori, a small smirk rising to his lips when Ori chuckled reluctantly at the sight. Nori simply rolled his eyes and continued out into the corridor, his star-shaped hair disappearing almost instantly in the shadows.

"I've been sent by Thorin to see which members of the Company will make up the guard," he explained quickly. "Who's yer choice?"

"I am-," Ori began, only to be cut off by Dori's hand around his mouth. The youngest brother Ri speared his brother with a fiery glare and made as if to bite Dori's hand. Dori hastily pulled his hand away, his eyes locked on Dwalin's.

"I am going," Dori amended firmly.

"No," Ori protested angrily. "No, you're not. I'm Bilbo's friend, I want to be there for him, I need to come-."

"No."

The young scribe blinked and slowly turned in Dwalin's direction, his eyes slowly widening as he realized that it was the guard, not his brothers, who had spoken. Dwalin stared back at him silently, his expression firm.

"Ye're not goin'," he continued. "It's not safe."

"I can take care of myself," Ori snarled, his eyes tightening with the slightest hint of embarrassment when his voice broke.

Dwalin shook his head.

"No," he said softly. "Ye can't." He turned away before Ori could speak again and reached out to clasp Dori's shoulder, his jaw clenching beneath the first approving expression that the eldest brother Ri had ever sent his way. "Be ready before dawn. Thorin wants an early start."

Dori nodded. "I'll be there."

Dwalin smiled stiffly, his expression crumbling for the briefest of moments when he turned back to the furious scribe.

"Ori-," he began.

Ori cut him off with a glare and violently shoved past the guard, his cheeks flushed a violent red beneath his beard.

"Y-your hammer is by the mantel," he snapped, his voice trembling slightly despite his best efforts. "B-big strong warrior like you… you n-need it more than I do."

Dwalin recoiled as if he had been struck and silently watched the young scribe storm out of the room, his brown eyes dark with pain and resignation.

"'m sorry," he whispered.

*Bagginshield*Bagginshield*Bagginshield*

Ori grumbled furiously under his breath, his hands tugging violently against the straps of his saddle. His pony, Poppy, made a low noise of protest and shifted slightly, her wide, dark eyes flickering back to him accusingly.

"Sorry," the scribe mumbled. He bit his lip and reached out to run a shaking hand through Poppy's thick, braided mane. His eyes burned with tears that he had refused to shed and he hastily buried his face into the pony's neck, seeking some semblance of comfort from the gentle creature.

"How dare he," he whispered brokenly. "How _dare_ he… Everyone judges me, tells me I'm too weak… My brothers probably still think I'm 50, for Mahal's sake. I thought… I thought that he was different, you know? For once in my life, I thought that I'd found someone who would give me a _chance_."

Poppy huffed and gently nudged the top of his head as if she understood, her hot breath oddly-comforting in the cold mountain air wafting into the stables. Ori chuckled weakly and moved to press his forehead against Poppy's for a brief moment before he pulled away, his gloved hands already moving to finish strapping the saddle onto the pony's back. Two leather saddle bags were thrown on after, followed almost immediately by a thick woolen blanket. Ori hesitated before poking through his bags, his fingers ghosting across packets of food that he had taken from the kitchens barely an hour before. He quickly moved on to brush his fingertips against the rough, slightly-crumpled rolls of paper that had been tucked carefully into a corner of the bag. Ori felt his lips curve up into a wry, humorless smile and silently blessed the Valar for the days that he and Bilbo had spent combing Erebor's library for maps of Middle Earth in the days after the Ring's discovery.

It wasn't an Elf guide, but at least he would be able to find his way to the woods of Lórien by himself. Even Dori wouldn't send him back to the Lonely Mountain if he arrived at their destination before the Ringbearer and his Guard.

_I'll show them_, the scribe swore to himself.

"Alright, Poppy," he whispered. "This isn't going to be easy, but we'll get through it, won't we? We'll show them… we'll teach them not to underestimate-."

_Creak_.

Ori stiffened and ducked down in Poppy's stall, his fingers curling around the pony's reins. Poppy huffed again but allowed her head to be pulled down with the young dwarf. Ori sidled up to the door to Poppy's stall and gingerly pressed his face against a small crack in the wood. His breath caught in his throat when he saw a familiar figure slip past him, his star-shaped hair barely hidden by the dark grey cloak that had been pulled over his head. A large pack was strapped to Nori's back, and his long-handled mace was clutched tightly in one of his hands. As Ori watched, his older brother carefully pried open the door of one of the other stalls and gently led another pony- Thistle?- out of her stall. The thief silently tied the pony's lead to a low-hanging beam and gingerly lowered his pack and mace onto the floor before he started to collect the animal's equipment from another corner of the stable.

Ori continued to crouch down behind the door of Poppy's stall, hardly daring to breathe even as his muscles started to cry out in protest. Poppy, however, didn't seem to share his need for secrecy. The pony whinnied and jerked its head upwards, nearly pulling Ori up with her.

Nori whirled around at the sound of the animal's cry, his dark eyes narrowing suspiciously as they took in the bridle that had already been attached to Poppy's head. Ori bit back a whimper and pressed himself as close to the ground as was physically possible, his heart pounding frantically in his chest.

To his surprise, his older brother turned away after a few moments and continued to strap equipment onto his pony. Finally, the thief pulled away from Thistle and untied her lead from the ceiling, his mace already strapped across his back. The thief carefully led Thistle out of the stables, his eyes flashing over his shoulder for the briefest of moments before he exited the newly-erected structure entirely.

He left the door wide open.

Ori stayed where he was for a long moment, his breathing harsh and loud in his ears. Poppy huffed and nudged him roughly behind the head, silently urging the smaller dwarf to his feet. The scribe chuckled quietly and gingerly stood up, his leg muscles screaming at the sudden movement. With careful, trembling hands, Ori undid the clasp on Poppy's stall and led her out into the stable, his brown eyes roving carefully across the bags that had been strapped onto her back, searching for anything that he had missed. He paused for a moment when his eyes locked on the carefully-polished knife that had been strapped onto Poppy's saddle and felt another, bitter lump rise in his throat. The knife had been one of Dwalin's first courting gifts, a weapon that he had carried since the Battle of Azanulbizar. Ori bit his lip and gently pulled the knife out of its sheath to consider the blade in the dim stables. He brushed his thumb against the runes that had been carved into the blade, his lips quirking up into a small, sad smile when he found his name engraved just below the hilt.

The scribe hesitated before unstrapping the knife's sheath from Poppy's saddle and attaching it to his belt. He cast a last look over his shoulder towards the rest of the mountain before he tugged the hood of his cloak over his head and led Poppy out of the stables as quietly as he could. He paused at the stable doors and wondered for a brief moment if he should leave them open as well before scrambling to make sure that the wooden doors were firmly secured.

_Thorin would track me down and murder me if any of the ponies escaped_, Ori mused.

Poppy didn't move as Ori clambered quietly into her saddle. The scribe ruffled her braided mane one last time before silently urging her forward, his spirits rising the farther he got from the Lonely Mountain. A song rose in his chest and he began to hum, only to falter slightly when he remembered that the song was one of Dwalin's favorites.

"Don't stop now, brother. I rather like that song."

Ori stiffened and tightened his grip on Poppy's reigns. He didn't turn to look as another horse rode up beside him, his muscles tensing when a familiar hand briefly clasped his shoulder.

"Out for a late night ride, little brother?" Nori asked casually.

Ori raised his eyebrows and risked a quick glance at his oldr brother.

"….Are you?" he shot back.

"Oh yes," the thief replied without hesitation. "The air is always cooler at night, it reminds me of some of my earlier travels to the north."

"You never told me about those," Ori mumbled, curious despite himself.

Nori smiled softly, his expression abruptly sad.

"No, I suppose I didn't," he mused. "Dori doesn't really like it when I talk to you about…certain things."

"Dori can shag an elf," the scribe grumbled darkly.

Nori laughed aloud, his deep voice echoing slightly in the empty valleys below the mountain.

"Please tell me that Dwalin didn't teach you that," he warned, voice abruptly serious. "I swear I'll castrate him if he did."

Ori blushed furiously and shook his head.

"….I might have heard Dori say something along those lines when I was younger," he admitted timidly.

Nori pressed one of his gloved hands against his mouth to hold back another laugh, his brown eyes glittering merrily in the silver light of the moon. Ori's smile widened and he rode silently beside his brother. One small corner of his mind noted that they seemed to be heading due south, although the thief was obviously taking care not to ride too close to Mirkwood.

"He loves you, you know," Nori said finally. "He just wants to keep you safe."

"I know," Ori sighed. "I mean, he's my brother, and I get it, but-."

"Not Dori," the thief interrupted. "Dwalin."

Ori blinked and shot his brother a confused look. Nori simply shrugged.

"I know he loves me," Ori admitted quietly. "But he doesn't take me seriously. None of you do," he added. "I'm just a dwarfling to you and Dori- you didn't even let me hold a real weapon until that incident with the goblins! Everyone just sees me as some weakling who's only good for lifting books and writing stories-."

"Stop," Nori snapped, his eyes hardening with a brief flash of anger. "First, no one in the Company would dare to call you a weakling after everything that we've been through together. You have proved from the very beginning that you could hold your own against any hardship, and I pity the idiot who underestimates your skill with a war hammer. I know that Dori and I can occasionally be a little overprotective-."

"Occassionally?" Ori muttered.

Nori silenced him with a glance before continuing.

"We just want you to be safe," he growled. "After what happened to Da, and Vestri-." The thief broke off suddenly and cleared his throat, his expression suddenly vulnerable.

Ori felt a dull pang go through him at the mention of the older sister that he had barely known, his mind flashing back to the fuzzy memory of a smiling woman with bright red hair and kind brown eyes. Neither of his older brothers liked to talk about Vestri; all the scribe knew about her was that the dwarrowdam had left the family's home in the Blue Mountains barely a decade after Ori was born to search for more work in the north. Sixty years before the brothers Ri joined the Company of Thorin Oakenshield, Vestri had sent word that she was returning to the Blue Mountains.

Her corpse was delivered to the family months later, along with the grim announcement that she had been cut down by Orcs several miles south of a village named Bree.

"We can't lose you, too," Nori added finally.

Ori nodded slowly and allowed his brother to lead them further south, his hands clenching reflexively around Poppy's reins.

"So… What are we going to do, now?" he asked after a long moment.

The thief paused and shot his brother a strange, calculating look, his eyes slowly brightening once again with mischief.

"Well, I'm not sending you back," he replied. "After all, you were the only one who was smart enough to bring a map."

"Three maps," the scribe corrected with a small, tentative smile.

Nori snorted playfully punched his brother's arm, his lips curling up into a wry smirk when his younger brother merely laughed.

"Then, you're coming with me to Lothlórien?" Ori guessed, his voice rising in excitement.

"Oh, I didn't say that," Nori chuckled.

"But-."

"I've heard that Isengard is lovely this time of year. Besides, I've always wanted to see the south- haven't you?"

*Bagginshield*Bagginshield*Bagginshield*

The Guard left the mountain just as the sun rose over the Lonely Mountain.

Thorin gritted his teeth and dug his heels into his pony's flanks, silently urging the animal forward until he had reached the front of the group. Thranduil and Bilbo both turned at his approach. The hobbit offered him a weak smile, his normally-rosy features pale in the amber light of the morning. Thorin felt a pang go through him at the sight of Bilbo's obvious unease, his eyes travelling unwillingly to the pocket at the front of the hobbit's dark coat.

None of the dwarves had been allowed in the room when Bilbo finally moved the Ring from the pocket of his old, tattered coat into the heavy wool jacket that Ori had made for him several weeks ago. The hobbit had stumbled out of Thorin's chamber minutes later, his blue eyes dark with worry and stress…

"Thorin?" Bilbo called cautiously, instantly breaking the dwarf king out of his thoughts.

Thorin rode closer to the hobbit and offered Thranduil a brief, curt nod, his brow furrowing when the Elvenking merely smirked in response before turning his eyes back to the horizon.

"We should reach the borders of my kingdom by the end of the day if we keep a steady pace," the elf informed him coolly. "My son will meet us and take you to a safe area of the forest where you can make camp for the night."

Thorin nodded stiffly, his eyes narrowing when Bilbo barely stifled a chuckle beside him. He flashed the hobbit a half-hearted glare, his lips twitching upwards despite himself at the sight of Bilbo's smile.

"Please tell me you're not going to start another war before we come back," the hobbit murmured.

Thorin's smile faltered for a moment, his mind flashing back to memories of blood and death and despair.

"I won't," he promised quietly.

Bilbo's smile tightened and he nodded silently, pointedly ignoring the knowing smirks that Thranduil was sending their way. Thorin sent the elf a fierce glare and maneuvered his pony so that he rode between Bilbo and the Elvenking. He heard someone choke back a laugh behind him and whirled around to glare at the offender.

Dwalin rolled his eyes at him, his own pony riding at a steady pace beside Bofur and Dori. Both Dori and Dwalin had been noticeably upset by Nori and Ori's failure to see them off with the rest of the Company, and even Bofur seemed vaguely troubled by the absence of the two brothers. Fíli and Kíli had also grown strangely quiet after Gloin had joined the party, his face half-hidden by the folds of a thick woolen cloak. The princes of Erebor had taken to shadowing the older dwarf at the back of the Guard, and although Thorin couldn't help but be relieved that the two princes weren't causing trouble, he found it odd that they were suddenly taking an interest in Gloin.

Thorin felt Bilbo's hand press against his arm and turned to look down at the hobbit. Bilbo smiled slightly and raised his eyebrows in a silent question, his gaze flickering back to take in the rest of the Guard. Thorin felt another smile rise to his lips and nudged the hobbit in silent assurance, unable to completely shake the feeling that his nephews were planning something.

*Bagginshield*Bagginshield*Bagginshield*

"…Okay, he's not looking at us anymore," Kíli muttered.

Fíli nodded and silently nudged the dwarf that was riding between him and his brother, his lips twitching with the effort of holding back a mischievous grin.

"So, how long are you planning on keeping this up?" he asked quietly.

The other dwarf shrugged and lifted his head to fix the princes with a steady gaze, his brown eyes flashing with a determined fire.

"As long as I have to," Gimli, son of Gloin huffed. "I'll be damned if they send me home like a child."

Fíli and Kíli nodded with mock solemnity, their own eyes glittering with mischief and glee.

"Well, in that case-," Kíli began.

"-I hope you're not afraid of spiders," Fíli finished cheerfully. "They're everywhere in Mirkwood."

"….Spiders?" Gimli repeated, his voice cracking slightly on the last word.

The two brothers cackled merrily and rode slightly ahead of the younger dwarf, leaving Gimli staring after them with wide, frightened eyes.

**Hey guys! So, first of all, thank you again for reading/reviewing this fic. So, just a few quick comments here: 1, I'm just going to kind of pretend that Gimli is just barely of age for a dwarf (although I'm not entirely sure what age that is, let's just pretend it's around 70 or so); 2, I'm going to be leaving for college in about 2 weeks, and I have no clue what my updating schedule is going to be like after that. As you may have guessed, this fic is pretty much taking all of my attention, so I think I'm going to focus on finishing all of my fics one at a time, starting with this, before I start any new ones. I promise that I will update as often as I can both before and after I leave for college, so please be as patient as you can with me, okay? **** Thank you all once again for everything- you guys rock!**


	10. Chapter 10

Legolas was waiting for the Guard at the edge of the forest, his pale hand curled around the bridle of a proud white horse that was nearly identical to the one that his father rode. The elf's silver hair hung in a straight, silken curtain across his shoulders that was broken only by two thin braids that had been tucked behind his ears. Flashes of dark green and glistening brown leather were barely visible beneath the thick folds of his dove grey cloak, and a slim black bow had been strapped onto his slim shoulders beside a quiver full of slender arrows.

The elven prince was beautiful, in an odd, ethereal sort of way.

Gimli hated him.

The youngest dwarf stiffened at the sound of hysterical giggles. He turned and glared at the two princes that had fallen back to ride behind him, his eyes narrowing dangerously when his gaze merely made the brothers laugh harder.

"What?" he hissed, his eyes flickering warily up towards the front of the Guard when the small company began to slow to a halt.

"N-Nothing," Kíli gasped, his shoulders heaving with barely-repressed laughter. "You just- the look on your _face_…"

"Wha's wrong with my face?" Gimli snapped, his voice rising despite his best efforts as a hot flush rose to his cheeks.

"Nothing, nothing," Fíli reassured him between giggles. "It just reminded us of Uncle Thorin-."

"-When he first met Bilbo," Kíli continued gleefully. "The look on his face-."

"-Was practically identical to your expression when you caught sight of that elf."

Gimli blushed furiously and pulled ahead of the princes with a furious scowl, his ears ringing with Fíli and Kíli's renewed shouts of laughter. His breath caught in his throat when Thorin, Dwalin, and Bilbo half-turned to look in his direction and he ducked his head, silently praying to the Valar that they would ignore the idiotic princes. He couldn't afford to be discovered yet, they weren't far enough away…

"Master Baggins," a strange, musical voice called out, immediately grabbing the dwarves' attention. "It is good to see you again."

Gimli breathed a low sigh of relief and slowly raised his head in time to see Thorin's expression darken with obvious jealousy at the camaraderie between his hobbit and the prince of Mirkwood. The dwarf king and his guards hurried forward to stand around the hobbit, their shoulders stiffening with obvious tension when more elves stepped out of the shadows of the forest to stand beside Thranduil and his son. The two species quickly fell into the usual tensions and cool comments filled with half-veiled threats and insults, completely oblivious to the exasperated looks that they were earning from a certain hobbit.

The sky was shot through with veins of gold and red by the time Legolas was finally able to mount his horse and take his place at the rear of the Guard. Fíli and Kíli silently moved forward to take Thranduil's place beside their uncle and the hobbit as the Guard started to move forward once again, leaving a glaring Gimli and a vaguely-amused elf behind them.

"Hail and well met, Master Dwarf," Legolas offered after several long moments of tense silence.

Gimli grunted and nodded curtly in response.

"I know that this is not the ideal place to say this, but I do wish to offer an… apology for how your king and Company were treated during their time in my father's realm," the elf continued.

Gimli blinked slowly and shot the elf a wary glance beneath the folds of his cloak.

"….Really?" he muttered.

Legolas nodded, his lips curling up into a smile that immediately sent chills of foreboding down the young dwarf's spine.

"Yes," he replied simply. "Tauriel, the captain of my father's guard, informed me that I… owed you and your Company an apology. Although," he added, his bright blue eyes glittering wickedly in the setting sun. "I do believe that she intended for me to deliver my apology to the dwarves that were actually _imprisoned_. Still, I'm sure that this will suffice- after all, you can always relay my apologies to your father when you return."

Gimli stiffened. "I don' know what you're talking about."

The elf chuckled and started to pull ahead of the younger dwarf. Gimli snarled and hurried to catch up with him, his blood pounding furiously in his ears.

"How did you figure me out?" he growled.

"Oh, so you _did_ know what I was talking about."

"Stop playing with me, Elf, and tell me how you knew!"

The prince of Mirkwood merely raised his eyebrows, his expression carefully-unimpressed. Gimli felt a hot blush rise into his cheeks under the elf's steady gaze, his anger rising when the other being smirked.

"Do I unsettle you, Master Dwarf?" he asked silkily.

"You- Don't- I'm not- I AM NOT ATTRACTED TO YOU!" Gimli yelled. He froze and immediately slapped a hand over his mouth when the other members of the Guard turned simultaneously to stare at him.

Legolas reeled back in obvious surprise, his eyes flickering over to Fíli and Kíli as the two princes struggled vainly to hold back their laughter. Thorin frowned and rode closer to his nephews, his eyes narrowing dangerously when the brothers simply choked out muffled apologies.

"Gloin?" the King Under the Mountain called warily. "Is everything alright back there?"

Gimli cleared his throat and nodded vigorously, his pulse hammering frantically in his chest. Oh, Mahal, Thorin was going to figure out who he was and they were going to send him back-.

"My apologies for the disruption, Thorin Oakenshield," Legolas called hastily. "Gimli and I were just having an… animated discussion about… bread."

"Bread," Thorin repeated flatly.

"Bread," the elf prince agreed.

The king of Erebor shot Gimli a quick, questioning look, his eyebrows rising slightly when the dwarf nodded in silent assent.

"Keep your voices down," Thorin called finally. "We don't know what else is out here."

Legolas and Gimli nodded and waited until the king had turned back to his still-giggling nephews before they sighed simultaneously. Gimli shot the elf a quick, embarrassed scowl, his lips twitching despite his best efforts.

"….I don't want to sleep with you, either," he grumbled.

"Good to know," Legolas choked, his lips curving into a wide grin. The elf was silent for a few moments, his slim shoulders trembling slightly with barely-restrained laughter.

"I recognized you," he added finally. "Elf eyes are sharper than those of most mortals, so it was easier for me to see your features underneath your cloak."

"…Ah," Gimli mumbled. "And you won't… tell anyone, will you?"

The prince of Mirkwood silently shook his head, his smile softening slightly.

"I suppose not," he mused. "It's not like I'll have to keep your secret for long, anyways."

"What are you sayin'?" Gimli demanded. "You think I can't keep a secret?"

"Well, you are a dwarf," the prince pointed out lightly.

Gimli glared at him before pulling ahead with a huff.

"_Khuthûzh_," he muttered.

"What?" Legolas called after him, his brow furrowing in confusion.

Gimli half-turned and flashed the elf a smug smirk.

"Can't tell ya, it's a _secret_," he replied airily.

The young dwarf turned and continued on his way, his ears ringing with the elf's muffled laughter.

*Bagginshield*Bagginshield*Bagginshield*

It took six days for everything to go wrong.

Really, Kíli was surprised that it had taken that long for something to happen.

The journey had been relatively peaceful up until that point; Bilbo had managed to keep Thorin from attacking Legolas at least four times, and the Guard had convinced the elf to keep them out of Mirkwood with relatively-little bloodshed (Dwalin still refused to talk to Fíli and Kíli for longer than ten seconds, even though it wasn't _technically_ their fault that the warrior had happened to trip and smash his face into the ground towards the end of the argument). Bard had sent men from the future site of Dale to replenish their supplies a day after they left Mirkwood, and even weather had been behaving itself for the most part.

It was the weather that turned against them first.

Kíli didn't notice the approaching storm clouds immediately; true, he was _supposed_ to be on watch, but Fíli had always been a better sentry and one of them needed to have their wits about them in the morning. Besides, his older brother never really complained about Kíli's habit of falling asleep on watch-.

"Kee, wake up."

Kíli jerked awake with a start and glanced up at his older brother. Fíli spared him a quick, strained smile and gently pushed his head off of its perch by the blond's knee, his light blue eyes locked intently on the ever-darkening horizon. The younger prince frowned and followed his brother's gaze, his head cocked to the side in confusion.

"….How long have I been asleep?" he whispered, his own eyes flickering across the slumbering forms of their companions to make sure that no one was listening. He stiffened when he saw Legolas standing at the edge of their camp, his bright blue eyes distant and vaguely troubled as they stared up into the starless sky.

"Not long," Fíli replied quietly. "About an hour or two at the most."

Kíli's frown deepened and he straightened up at his brother's side. "And… when did we take over for Dwalin?"

"Three hours after midnight."

"So- wait, shouldn't it be close to daybreak now?"

"Aye, it should," Fíli murmured. "Only…"

"…The sky's getting darker, not lighter," Kíli finished flatly.

The older prince of Erebor nodded slowly, his normally-stoic expression tinged with the faintest hint of worry.

"Damn," Kíli sighed. "I hate travelling in bad weather."

"I don't think that this is an ordinary storm, Kee," Fíli muttered. "It feels… different."

Kíli bit his lip and squinted up at the gathering clouds. A sharp chill seeped into his skin and he shivered, his fingers tightening instinctively around the bow at his side.

"It feels wrong," he added.

Fíli nodded slowly.

"Wake Uncle," he murmured. "We need to move. Now."

Kíli nodded and scrambled to his feet, his calloused hands already slinging his sword and quiver across his shoulders. The youngest prince of Erebor ran to his uncle's side, his footsteps faltering for the briefest of moments when he noticed the hobbit that was tucked securely against Thorin's side. Kíli allowed himself a brief smile before he crouched to give his uncle's shoulder a rough shove. The young dwarf leapt back as Thorin lashed out at him and waited for the older dwarf to fully wake up before he drew closer.

"Uncle," he whispered. "Something's coming."

Thorin sat up immediately, his eyes widening slightly when the movement sent a disgruntled Bilbo tumbling out of his grasp onto the ground.

"What in the name of _Eru_-?" Bilbo grumbled. The hobbit's voice died in his throat when he saw the dwarf king looming over him, his cheeks flushing a brilliant scarlet in the shadows. "I- Oh. Well. That is- I- Well."

Kíli coughed on a laugh and cast another, half-panicked glance over his shoulder to where Fíli and Legolas stood in quiet conversation with a half-asleep Gimli, who hadn't bothered to pull his hood over his wild auburn hair in his exhaustion.

"We need to start moving, Mister Boggins," he told the hobbit quietly. "Something big is coming this way, and I don't like the looks of it."

Bilbo frowned and immediately reached for the small sword by his side, his eyes narrowing when he saw the lack of blue light surrounding the blade.

"It's not orcs," he mumbled as he scrambled to his feet.

Kíli bit his lip and shuddered as another sharp chill travelled down his spine. Bilbo mirrored the shiver and stared up at the two dwarves with wide eyes, his fingers travelling automatically to the pocket of his coat. Thorin frowned at the gesture and hastily shouldered his pack.

"Wake the others," he ordered quietly. "Tell your brother and the elf to start readying the ponies."

Kíli nodded and ran towards the trio at the edge of camp, his feet lashing out to deliver quick, sharp kicks to the three members of the Guard that were still asleep on the ground.

"Sorry," he yelped when Dwalin attempted to smack him in response. "Need to get up- Now!"

The warrior immediately straightened and pulled himself to his feet.

"Wha' is it?" he snarled.

Kíli gestured vaguely towards he darkening sky and rushed to his brother's side, only to stumble when a sudden wind nearly knocked him off of his feet.

"What in Mahal's-?" he gasped.

"Kee!" Fíli grunted. "C'mon, we need to help Legolas and Gimli with the ponies."

Kíli nodded sharply and hurried after his brother. Within minutes, the members of the Guard were mounted and struggling towards the south, their eyes narrowed against the wind that smashed into them from almost every direction. Gimli lost his cloak before the smoke of their destroyed campfire had even faded into the distance, and it wasn't long before the rest of the Guard were forced to relinquish their cloaks as well. The ponies strained and struggled against the wind, their heads bent in a vain effort to ward off the sharp, cool gusts.

"We can't keep struggling like this," Legolas called from the back of the Guard, his knuckles white around the reins. "The ponies are exhausted already and we're barely moving."

"An' what do ye suppose we do, Master Elf?" Dwalin yelled above the wind.

"Our only option is to double back towards Mirkwood," the elf insisted. "The wind is weaker in that direction, and the trees will act as shelter."

"No," Thorin barked. "This is no natural wind; I will not allow it to push us off of our course."

"We have no other choice!" Legolas screamed above a particularly-vicious blast of wind.

"I hate ta say it, but I agree with the elf," Bofur added hoarsely. "It doesn't look like we have any other option at this point unless you want us all to be blown back to Erebor."

Thorin snarled something that was lost in the wind and roughly steered his pony in the general direction of Mirkwood, taking care to keep himself between Bilbo and the wind.

"Lead on then, Elf," he called.

Legolas nodded stiffly and hurried towards the forest, his steps shadowed by the rest of the Guard. The small group broke through the trees after nearly an hour of hard riding, their skin rubbed raw by the wind beneath hopelessly-tangled hair. The wind weakened almost immediately, leaving the members of the Guard gasping for breath as Legolas continued to lead them further into the wood. Thorin allowed the elf to lead them for a little while longer before he came to an abrupt halt, his eyes flashing in the dim light.

"No farther," he called.

Legolas slowed to a stop and shot the dwarf king an exasperated look. When he noticed that Bilbo and the rest of the Guard had gathered around Thorin in silent support, the elf huffed and rode closer to the group.

"We can't go back out there," he pointed out coolly.

"We will go no further into Mirkwood," Thorin growled in return.

"A straight shot through the forest will bring us to Lothlórien in half the time than it would have taken us to skirt around the forest!" Legolas snapped, his bright blue eyes nearly glowing with frustration in the shadows of the forest.

"The last time we cut through your forest we were nearly killed by spiders," Thorin snarled. "Not to mention the fact that we almost starved."

"The last time you were here, you were trespassers who did not have the benefit of an elven guide," Legolas pointed out curtly. "I can protect you from the spiders, and I promise that I will lead us out of here before anyone even thinks of starving."

"And why should we trust the promises of an elf?" Dwalin grumbled.

"I am a member of your Guard-," Legolas objected hotly.

"The Guard of the Ringbearer is made up of dwarves," Bofur countered, his normally-kind voice harsh and strained in the darkness. "You just happen to be travelling with us."

"Yes, because the dwarves of Erebor have such a good record when it comes to guarding said Ringbearer," the elf prince countered.

Thorin stiffened and made to dismount, only to be stopped by Bilbo's hand on his shoulder.

"Enough," the hobbit broke in, his voice slightly muffled by the shadows of the wood. "This is neither the time nor the place for this-."

"Bilbo-." Thorin hissed.

"Thorin," Bilbo interrupted tightly. "Enough."

The dwarf king's lips curled in displeasure but he nodded nonetheless. After a few, tense moments, Thorin Oakenshield turned and offered the elf a small, strained bow, much to the chagrin of his companions. Legolas considered the king before offering his own bow in return, his pale eyes flickering towards the young, red-haired dwarf that had fallen back to the rear of the Guard with the two silent princes of Erebor.

"I will try and keep us close to the edge of the wood, if that wood make you more comfortable," Legolas offered reluctantly. "However, I will not leave the forest entirely until we reach the Anduin."

Thorin nodded and shot Dwalin a sharp look when the warrior made as if to object. Kíli noted with a small flicker of amusement that Bilbo's hand continued to rest on his uncle's shoulder until the Guard started to move again. The youngest prince glanced at his brother out of the corner of his eye to see if Fíli had noticed the gesture as well, only to find that Fíli and Gimli were both glancing back towards the rapidly-fading edge of the trees, their expressions troubled.

"What is it?" he whispered.

Fíli shook his head silently and flashed his brother a tired smile, although the expression didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Fee?" Kíli tried again, his voice sharpening with fear.

"Just keep your bow ready, Kee," Fíli murmured. "Gimli-."

"My ax isn't leavin' my hand, if tha's what you're trying to tell me," the younger dwarf growled, quietly.

The brothers smiled slightly and nodded before hurrying to catch up to the rest of the Guard, their eyes flickering warily over their shoulders every so often. Kíli resisted the urge to turn around entirely and stare back into the darkness, his skin prickling beneath the gaze of invisible eyes.

The small company travelled in silence for the rest of the night, and continued on through the shadowy forest well into the next evening. Kíli struggled to stay alert in the murky darkness, his head pounding with hunger and exhaustion. Occasionally, he would fall back to cover the rear in place of Gimli or Fíli, his eyes scanning the dark trees behind them every so often in search of the eyes that continued to bore a small hole into the back of his neck. Once, Bilbo slowed to ride with them as well, his small fingers alternating between the pocket of his coat and the hilt of his sword. The hobbit smiled thinly at the brothers, his normally-rosy features wan in the little light that managed to filter through the trees.

"See anything?" he whispered.

Kíli shook his head, his own lips curly up into a weary grin when Fíli came to ride on Bilbo's other side, his free hand curled lazily around the hilt of one of his swords.

"No," the younger prince muttered. "That's what bothers me…"

"We know something's out there," Fíli added quietly. "Just don't know _where_… I'm worried that even Legolas's ears won't be able to give us any warning if they decided to sneak up on us."

"I heard that," the elf whispered, causing the trio to jump. Legolas chuckled humorlessly and moved to take his place at the front once more, only to have his space filled moments later by a grim-faced Thorin.

"You should move back to the front of the line," he murmured to Bilbo. "All of you should, actually," he added in a louder voice. "You've spent enough time on watch- let Dwalin, Bofur and I take a turn."

Kíli frowned but nodded reluctantly along with his brother. Gimli merely bowed his head and started to move forward.

"Oh, and Gimli," Thorin called.

The youngest dwarf abruptly pulled his pony to a halt and slowly turned around, his brown eyes wide in silent alarm.

"Try and avoid the spiders," the King Under the Mountain said gravely. "I would rather not have to worry about running from your father's ax whenever we make it back to Erebor."

Gimli swallowed and nodded slowly, his expression slightly dazed. Thorin chuckled quietly and waited until Dwalin and Bofur had fallen back to flank him before he sent the young princes of Erebor forward to ride with Bilbo, Dori and Legolas. Kíli continued to cast worried glances over his shoulder long after he and his brother had joined Bilbo just behind the elf, his dark eyes flickering constantly between his uncle's tense, silent form and the dark shadows closing in behind them. His hands never left his bow and his skin continued to prickle, soundlessly begging him to find the eyes that continued to watch his every move from the safety of darkness. The young prince struggled to obey, his gaze combing the black depths of Mirkwood with increasing desperation as their party rode further into the woods.

Bilbo shifted suddenly and gasped, his slim shoulders hunched in the twisted shadows as he fumbled for something in his coat. Kíli turned immediately and leaned closer to the hobbit, his fingers loosening slightly from their iron grip on his bow in case the smaller creature needed assistance.

A loud, shrill screech rang out from behind the Guard and Kíli flinched, his bow falling to the ground with a dull clatter that was lost in the thundering of hooves and the piercing screams of the unknown.

**Sooo this is officially my first update from college (today was actually move in day, and I still somehow managed to find the time to finish this :P) Sorry for the cliffy (kind of…), and I promise that I will get the next chapter up as soon as I possibly can, I'm just not entirely sure **_**how**_** soon. Please be patient with me, and thank you all for being so awesome!**

**As always, I am really sorry if any one is OOC, and I love hearing from you guys so…. Please review!**


	11. Chapter 11

Ori stared down into the crystal waters of the Anduin, his fingers twisting uneasily around the frayed hem of his tunic, listening to his brother's hushed conversation with an elf.

The younger brothers Ri had made reasonably good time in the six days since they had left Erebor. Nori had insisted on taking on most of the watches at night and despite the absence of a fire and Nori's tendency to ignore the basic needs for food and sleep, Ori had never for a moment regretted his choice to join his brother on the journey to Isengard.

Neither of them had expected to be surrounded by armed elves on the fifth day of their journey.

The elves of Lothlórien (as they had called themselves during one of their brief, talkative moments) had not moved to attack either of the dwarven brothers, despite the colorful oaths that Nori sent in their direction when one of the elves physically lifted him from his pony to place him in the saddle of an elven steed. Ori had quickly met the same fate, and had watched with a sort of helpless fascination as most of their supplies were lifted from their mounts' backs and distributed amongst the members of the elven company. Thistle and Poppy were promptly taken into the care of another elf and led away with a willingness that obviously annoyed Nori, leaving the two brothers alone in the company of elves.

Ilnir, one of the more talkative elves who allowed Ori to share his saddle shortly afterwards, quietly explained that they had been sent by the lady of Lórien to assist the two brothers Ri on their journey to Isengard, although he had failed to give any details as to _how_ the elves were planning on helping them and _why_ they were even interested in the brothers' small quest in the first place. Eventually, Ori had given up on his attempts to question the elf and, after several failed attempts at pickpocketing his elven guard for any scraps of information, Nori had reluctantly settled down as well. The next two days were filled with sullen silence on the part of the dwarves and the occasional burst of song or quiet chatter from the elves.

Honestly, compared to their last dealings with elves, Ori could almost admit that the entire thing was bordering on pleasant.

Then they reached the river.

"The Wold of Rohan is across the Anduin," Ilnir explained, his musical voice hushed and strained as he bent to converse with the dwarves. Like the rest of his company, Ilnir had seemed to grow more and more anxious the closer they got to the banks of the Anduin, and elf's sharp grey eyes flickered across their surroundings every few seconds, as if waiting for some hidden enemy to burst from the shadows. "You will need to approach Isengard through the Gap, if you are able. Otherwise, you must take your chances with the forest."

Ori frowned despite himself, his mind suddenly filled with images of heavy shadows and an endless darkness beneath the trees.

"What's wrong with the forest?" Nori demanded roughly, his own fingers hovering anxiously over the knives that were fastened to his belt.

Ilnir shook his head and glanced around them once again, his smooth features creased in something that Ori could almost identify as fear.

"It is a strange forest," he murmured. "Filled with dark and ancient magic. We do not understand its ways, and its proximity to Isengard may have corrupted it in recent times. If you must pass beneath its branches, do not linger, for I fear what would become of you if you did."

Nori nodded brusquely and glanced over his shoulder towards the river, his brow furrowing in obvious displeasure as he watched two of the elven company ready a slim boat that had been perched on the shore.

"….Is the boat really necessary?" he grumbled.

Ilnir smirked slightly. "Do you have something against boats, Master Dwarf?"

"On occasioin," Nori sniffed, his cheeks faintly green beneath his star-shaped auburn hair. Ori shuddered again and cast a brief, fearful glance towards the boat, his thoughts flying back to memories of a dark barrel jostled by rough waves.

"We've had bad experiences," he offered quietly.

Ilnir's smile softened and he nodded, his piercing grey eyes intent as they scanned the two dwarves. After a moment, the elf knelt and offered Ori a gleaming knife, his expression brightening when the younger dwarf's fingers curled tentatively around the polished ivory hilt.

"I noticed that you did not have many weapons of your own, Master Scribe," he murmured, his lips twitching around the half-affectionate nickname that the elves had given to Ori after they discovered his small collection of maps. "I would be honored if you would take this, and remember the elves of Lothlórien in days to come."

Ori nodded slowly and carefully tucked the knife into his belt, his own lips curving into a small smile when he noted that the elf's knife was nearly the length Bilbo's sword, Sting.

"Does it have a name?" he asked.

The elf raised his eyebrows and shook his head.

"Why would it need a name?" he asked with the barest hint of confusion. "It is only a knife."

Ori shook his head but made no other comment. Nori chuckled slightly and offered the elf a slight bow.

"You have my thanks for the journey, Master Elf," he muttered. "Although if we do meet again, I would appreciate it if you would warn us before you steal our ponies."

Ilnir laughed quietly and shook his head, his long legs already straightening beneath him.

"It is not stealing if we do not intend to keep them," he pointed out. "Come to Lórien once your quest is completed and you will have your ponies, as well as our lady's thanks."

Nori nodded stiffly and reluctantly made his way towards the boat with Ori at his side. The elder Ri stopped for a moment and considered the packs that had already been loaded into the boat's prow, his chin bobbing in the slightest nod of approval.

"The boat will not tip over, even in the roughest of waters," Ilnir called helpfully. "Follow the current as much as you can, but get to the other bank as soon as possible. Orcs and other creatures of the South have been spotted along these shores, and they will not hesitate to strike at you if you come within their reach."

Nori's expression darkened and he hastily herded Ori into the boat, his eyes flickering over to the armed and watchful elves that had taken up position around them.

"Take care, elves," he muttered.

Ilnir merely smiled and pushed the boat into the water. Ori kept his eyes on that smile until the elf had nearly disappeared from his sight, his silver-and-gold hair a tiny glimmer of light against the brightening sky. Then the youngest Ri turned and grasped one of the oars with steady hands, his gaze fixed on the horizon.

*Bagginshield*Bagginshield*Bagginshield*

Bilbo couldn't breathe.

The hobbit's searing, aching lungs heaved within his chest, his body screaming and begging for air even as his feet continued to pound into the damp, dark soil of Mirkwood, struggling to carry him away from the cold, piercing screams of his pursuers. Dimly, the hobbit heard Thorin and Dwalin bellow cries of challenge and defiance and felt his heart stutter within his chest at the thought of the two dwarves fighting against the shadowy creatures that had come after them in the night.

Someone shoved him forward and suddenly there were Fíli and Kíli's voices in his ear, begging him to keep moving, to keep running away. Legolas darted around them, his tall, slim body a pale blur in the darkness as he sped past them to shoot another arrow towards one of their attackers before hurrying back to the front of their group, his wide blue eyes frantically scanning the darkness around them for any means of escape. Dori and Gimli huffed and grunted behind them, their own weapons ready and bristling in their hands. A loud oath from Thorin nearly sent the hobbit skidding to a halt but Fíli shoved him ahead again, his expression grim.

"Keep moving," the heir of Erebor hissed. "You're what's most important right now- we need to keep you safe."

_But I'm not_, Bilbo thought wildly. _Not really. It's the Ring- that's what they want, that's what everyone is trying to protect. I'm really not important at all… certainly not worth dying over…._

_ Give up the Ring_, an odd, cool voice that was almost identical to the Ring and yet not whispered in his mind. _Give us the Ring, little hobbit, and we will spare them._

"What?" Bilbo mumbled dazedly, his footsteps faltering slightly even as Fíli and Kíli continued to shove him forward.

_What are these creatures to us?_ the voice continued. _All we need is the Ring…_

"BILBO!" Kíli yelled, his voice cut off in a sudden cry of surprise when five more dark riders burst out of the trees in front of them.

Legolas dove out of the way of one of the Rider's swords, his features twisting in alarm when he found himself facing the blade of one of the four Riders that had ridden behind them. Dori and Gimli attempted to press together in a makeshift wall against the three remaining Riders behind them, only to be tossed aside with painful ease into Fíli. The three dwarves fell painfully to the ground, leaving Kíli dazed and alone against the Riders that were quickly surrounding them.

Thorin and Dwalin were nowhere to be found.

Bilbo swallowed heavily and brandished his sword with shaking hands, his muscles aching and burning with the urge to lower his sword and give in to the voices. The Ring was a heavy, burning weight in his pocket and he unconsciously brushed his fingers against its hiding in an effort to reassure himself that it was still there. Nine pairs of cold, wicked eyes seemed to bore into him at the movement and he shuddered, his mind suddenly flooded with a chorus of flat, cold voices ordering him to give up the Ring.

"N-No," he whispered, his voice slowly gaining strength as he forced himself to stare up at the towering, black-cloaked figures around him. "No! You cannot have it! It isn't yours!"

_Yet you will soon be __**ours**_, the voices snarled, their icy blades already descending to slice into the hobbit's skin.

Kíli yelled furiously and threw himself between the hobbit and the Riders, his eyes widening in a brief moment of fear as the blades drew closer-

A rider burst from the darkness of Mirkwood and charged the Black Riders, his armored fingers curled around the base of two burning torches. The dark Riders screamed and fell back as the rider hastily placed himself in front of the dwarf and the hobbit. Within moments, two more riders had broken through the shadows, followed swiftly by two smaller figures brandishing torches alongside an axe and a gleaming sword. Thorin roared and slammed his torch into the face of the Black Rider that had been closest to Bilbo, his lips twisting in a furious sort of triumph when the Rider screamed in pain and rode away, its dark robes already engulfed in flame. The rest of the Riders hastily retreated with furious snarls, leaving the battered Guard alone with their rescuers in the heavy silence of the forest.

As was often the case, it was Kíli who first dared to break the silence.

"What in _Mahal's_ name just happened?"

Thorin grunted and reached out to briefly clasp his youngest nephew's shoulder before he turned to Bilbo, his stern features creased with worry in the shadows.

"Bilbo," he whispered urgently. "Bilbo, are you alright?"

The hobbit shuddered but remained silent, his small body trembling. Thorin's frown deepened and he reached out to the hobbit, only to freeze when the smaller creature promptly launched himself into the Thorin's arms, causing the dwarf king to drop Orcrist to the ground in order to support the burglar.

"….Bilbo?" he murmured.

Bilbo sniffed and shook his head, his lithe arms already struggling to push his body away from Thorin's embrace. The King Under the Mountain clutched him closer for a brief moment before he reluctantly allowed the hobbit to leave his embrace, although his rough fingers remained fastened in a steady hold on Bilbo's trembling shoulders.

"Before we left Erebor, I promised myself that I would keep you safe, no matter the cost," he murmured, his deep voice barely audible in the thick silence of Mirkwood. "I will not break that promise, Bilbo, I swear by Mahal. I _will_ protect you, all of us will-."

"B-but it's not me you're protecting, is it?" Bilbo mumbled thickly, his blue eyes locked stubbornly on the ground. "It's the Ring. I'm not that important- not really. If it wasn't for this… this _thing_ in my pocket, you wouldn't be in danger at all."

Thorin frowned and, after a moment's hesitation, reached out to gently grasp the hobbit's chin. Bilbo blinked and allowed the dwarf to slowly raise his face until he met the king's fierce crystalline gaze.

"I will not put a trinket above your life, Bilbo Baggins," the dwarf king muttered. "Not again. I will protect you from anything that would dare to harm you, no matter what you carry in your pocket."

The hobbit smiled shakily and nodded.

"…Perhaps it would be wise to put this discussion on hold for the moment?" an unfamiliar voice broke in with barely-concealed amusement. "Those Riders will return as soon as they regain their strength, and I would rather not be here when they launch a second attack."

Bilbo felt Thorin stiffen and dared to peek around the dwarf's shoulders as the king of Erebor turned to face the three newcomers, his shoulders stooping for a brief moment as he reached for his fallen sword.

"Who are you?" Thorin Oakenshield snapped. "And what business do you have with us?"

"As to _business_, Master Dwarf, I believe that we have just saved your life," the voice drawled in reply. "By the Valar, if this is how you usually thank yours rescuers, it's a wonder dwarves have any allies at all."

"Thengel," a second rider broke in warningly. The man (was it a man?) bowed his head to the small company of dwarves that had scrambled to surround their king and the hobbit, his features half-hidden by the flickering flames of the third companion's torches.

"I apologize for the behavior of my companion," the second man murmured. "Thengel's words often decide to leave his mouth before they have been fully formed."

"I have heard worse," Thorin growled, his eyes still focused on the figure of Thengel with silent fury.

The second rider seemed to smile and bowed his head once more. "I do not doubt it, mighty king of Erebor. Word of your quest has travelled far in recent months, and tales of your deeds have found great favor in the kingdoms of the south. Even the lands of the kindly west have heard tell of your travels, although I cannot say that many of its inhabitants are as enthusiastic as other listeners."

Bilbo snorted despite himself, his lips quirking up into a wide, wry smile at the thought of the Shire's reaction to any mention of his travels. The Bagginses were going to disown him this time, he was sure of it…

"You never answered my questions," Thorin snapped. "Who are you? What do you want from us?"

The second speaker hesitated for a moment before dismounting, his movements followed with obvious reluctance by the man called Thengel. The third rider remained astride his horse, his features all-but hidden beneath the folds of a thick black cloak. His steely grey-blue eyes glittered coolly in the warm light of his torches, their unreadable depths the only clearly-visible features in the man's face. Bilbo noted with a distant sort of interest that Kíli seemed intrigued by the third man as well; the youngest prince of Erebor's dark eyes flickered frequently in the direction of the third rider, his shoulders half-turned as if he wished to address the man himself.

"I am known as Aragorn, son of Arathorn," the second speaker said, his calm voice breaking immediately into Bilbo's thoughts. "Ranger of the Dúnedain in the North. In the house of Elrond, I have been known as Estel, although I suspect the name means nothing to you."

"Less than nothing," Thorin retorted. "In days past, your friendship with elves would have earned you the wrath of dwarves, Master Aragorn, rather than our favor."

"And yet you travel with Legolas Greenleaf of Mirkwood," Aragorn replied flatly, his own grey eyes gleaming with something that was too grim to be called humor.

"He is an exception," Thorin grumbled.

"I'm flattered," the elf commented dryly, his silvery hair somehow managing to shine in the darkness as he strode back towards the group. "The Riders have fled beyond my knowledge," he added to the rest of the group. "Judging by the direction of their tracks, I fear that they have gone to the fortress of Dol Guldur to regain their strength."

Thorin nodded tightly and opened his mouth to speak again, only to be interrupted by a quiet cough from Bilbo's direction.

"Pardon me," the hobbit interrupted hesitantly. "But you say that you are a Ranger, and yet I have never heard of a Ranger called Aragorn."

"You're familiar with Rangers?" Dori muttered, his eyebrows raised in obvious surprise.

"Gandalf asked the men of the Dúnedain to guard the Shire several decades ago," Aragorn explained. "My kin defended the many of the Shirefolk during the Fell Winter and gained some small favor among its residents. To address your concerns, Master Hobbit, I do not go by Aragorn among the people of your lands. To the residents of Bree and beyond, I am known only as Strider."

Bilbo's features visibly brightened and he chuckled, apparently oblivious to the half-alarmed look that the dwarves were sending his way.

"Ah! Yes, I've heard of you," he mused. "If I'm not mistaken, you saved young Hamfast from an unfortunate encounter with an incredibly rude Man from Bree. I think it was several years ago, actually..."

The hobbit drifted into contemplative silence, studiously ignoring the bemused looks that were being sent his way by most of the rest of his companions. Aragorn merely smiled slightly and offered Bilbo a slight bow.

"My kin and I are always at your service, Master Hobbit," he murmured. Thengel shifted slightly at Aragorn's side and cleared his throat meaningfully.

The Ranger shot his companion a half-exasperated look and gestured towards the slightly-shorter man.

"This is Thengel, son of Fengel King, Master of Horses and ruler of Rohan," he explained shortly. "And this-," he added with another gesture towards the third man at his left. "Is Illiandur, son of Narin, second in command to the Captain of Gondor."

Illiandur bowed his head silently, his grey eyes cold. Thengel smirked and gave an elaborate bow atop his horse, his warm brown eyes gleaming with sultry mischief beneath his flowing blond hair.

"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance," the prince of Rohan purred. "And might I add that it will be a pleasure to travel with so many _lovely_ companions-."

"Who said that we were travellin' together?" Dwalin growled.

"Well, we did just save your lives," Thengel drawled.

"So we've heard," Thorin broke in stiffly. "I do not understand how that gives you the right to assume-."

"You are all going to the forest of Lothlórien, aren't you?" Aragorn pointed out.

The dwarf king frowned and nodded reluctantly.

"We are travelling there as well," the Ranger stated easily. "It would make sense for us to travel there together, especially since it is almost inevitable that the Black Riders will return."

Thorin's scowl deepened and he made no answer, his blue eyes flashing dangerously in the shadows. Bilbo bit back a half-hysterical chuckle and moved to place a small, warm hand on the dwarf's shoulder, his features carefully neutral beneath Thorin's thunderous gaze.

"You did promise to behave," he reminded him quietly.

"With _elves_," Thorin growled.

Bilbo simply raised his eyebrows and held Thorin's gaze until the dwarf king turned away, his jaw clenched tightly beneath his dark beard.

"You may travel with us if you wish," he bit out. "Just don't fall behind."

"Somehow, I don't think that that will be much of a problem," Thengel mused. "Especially when you consider the fact that you lot are on foot, while we are on horses."

Thorin barely bit back a snarl while the rest of the Guard glowered in muted embarrassment. Legolas's horse and the ponies had bolted moments after the Black Riders had appeared in Mirkwood, leaving several disgruntled dwarves and a dazed hobbit lying sprawled on the ground in the seconds before they could gather their wits about them. Legolas, Thorin, Fíli, and Kíli had leapt off of their own mounts once they realized that several of their company had been left behind, leaving the animals to flee into the forest without a guide.

Kíli chuckled suddenly and made a high, shrill whistling noise that pierced through the heavy shadows like an arrow. A distant cry answered him, followed almost immediately by the quiet thumps of hooves against dirt. Within minutes, all of the ponies and Legolas's horse had rejoined the group, their manes tangled and dotted with bits of foliage and twigs. The youngest prince of Erebor smirked with obvious pride at the expression on Thengel's face and swung easily into his saddle.

"Fee and I taught them that," he crowed. "Thought it would be a good idea after that incident with the trolls."

Thengel simply raised his eyebrows before turning and riding away. Aragorn offered the Guard another thin smile before going after the prince of Rohan, his movements followed almost immediately by Legolas and Illiandur. As Bilbo fell back with the rest of the dwarves, he couldn't help but notice the slight flash of disappointment that crossed Kíli's features when Illiandur failed to offer a comment on the prince of Erebor's trick.

The hobbit suddenly found himself wondering how Kíli would react if he knew about the tiny, half-amused smile that had flickered across the Man's features beneath his dark cloak.

**Yay! So, this chapter was legitimately a pain to write, and I am so sorry for how long it took to get up (I'm going to blame school work, which isn't much of an excuse, but it's sort of all I've got, so you guys will just have to take it). Anyways, I must make a quick apology if Aragorn or any other character is OOC in this (Aragorn is surprisingly hard to write- who knew?), and I would love to hear what you guys thought about this last chapter- especially if you have any thoughts on the OCs. And if you don't like OCs… I'm sorry, there will be a few more.**

**Thank you sooo much to all the people who have read/reviewed this, and please remember to leave a review if you can? You guys have no idea how happy it makes me to hear from you, it literally makes my day sometimes.**

**Thanks again, and please let me know if I've done anything incredibly wrong! **


	12. Chapter 12

Nori stared out across the rolling hills of the Wold, his dark eyes lingering for a long moment on the dark line of trees that had appeared along the far edge of the horizon. The thief blinked slowly and turned to watch his younger brother clamber out of the boat, his slim fingers trembling slightly as he started to tug the elven canoe towards the shore. The scribe paused for a brief moment to flash his brother a surprisingly-evil look, his lips twitching slightly when the thief carefully lifted himself out of his seat and launched himself into the cold water with a visible wince.

"…I don't like water," Nori grumbled.

"We need it to survive, you know," Ori shot back.

"Don't care," the thief grunted. "Still don't like it."

The scribe laughed shakily, his laughter trailing off into a light grunt when the bottom of the boat scraped against the bottom of the river. Together, the two dwarves managed to pull the boat up onto the shore and into a small scrub of low trees and bushes nearby. Nori hastily set about covering the craft with a layer of fallen leaves and twigs while Ori tugged their packs out of the bottom of the boat, his eyes lingering longingly on the scrolls that had been tucked carefully into the prow.

"They'll be here when we get back," Nori grunted. "We can find our way to the forest without 'em."

Ori nodded slowly and settled for buckling Ilnir's knife to his belt instead, his lips twisting into a wry smile.

"I don't think I have any maps of Fangorn, anyways," he muttered. "So they wouldn't have been any use, really… Completely useless."

Nori gave his brother a sharp look, his brow furrowing when the younger dwarf refused to meet his gaze.

"You're not useless, Ori," he murmured.

The scribe shrugged and silently followed his brother out of the scrub, his fingers tightening reflexively around the hilt of Ilnir's sword. The dwarves crept quietly towards the nearest hill and paused, their eyes darting anxiously across the browned grass in search of danger. When none appeared, they moved again, their feet pounding in quiet tandem against the ground, eyes fixed constantly on the slowly-growing line of trees.

"We're not going to make it there before nightfall," Ori huffed.

Nori merely nodded and pressed onward, ignoring his brother's hushed groan. The dwarves continued to run until the sun fell behind the distant, southernmost peaks of the Misty Mountains and kept going well into the night, hardly daring to rest for fear of the orcs that Ilnir had warned them about. Nori shook Ori awake before the first streams of sunlight had spread across the plains and shoved his brother forward, ignoring the slight pang that went through his chest at the sight of his little brother stumbling wearily through the grass.

_Dori would kill us both if he knew about this_, he mused dryly.

_I almost want to kill myself for bringing Ori here…_

The thief almost breathed a sigh of relief when they reached the tree line after two days of hard running, with no sign of orcs or wargs. The dwarven brothers halted beneath the shadows of the trees and peered warily into the forest's depths.

"….Do we go in, then?" Ori muttered.

Nori shook his head slightly and glanced around in search of another path. He reached into his pack and pulled out a map after a few moments, his lips quirking up into a small smile at the shocked expression on Ori's face.

"Maps aren't entirely useless," he said pointedly, earning himself a startled laugh from the younger dwarf.

Ori plucked the map from his brother's hands and squinted down at the familiar markings. The scribe nodded after a few moments and tucked the map into his belt, his eyes bright despite the shadow of exhaustion that had fallen across his features somewhere in the course of their journey.

"Right," he huffed. "If we go southwest across the Entwash, then cross across West Emnet, we should come to the Gap of Rohan, and through that to Isengard."

"How many days?" Nori asked quietly, his dark eyes combing across the plains for any sign of danger.

Ori shook his head slowly. "Four… maybe three days if we keep at our current pace."

Nori frowned and nodded, his muscles already groaning with the thought of running any farther.

"Right," he sighed. "Let's get moving, then, shall we?"

Ori nodded with a barely-restrained sigh of his own and followed his brother away from the cool shadows of the trees.

*Bagginshield*Bagginshield*Bagginshield*

Dwalin watched the youngest prince of Erebor ride closer to their three unexpected companions and silently wondered if this was the day when Kíli, son of Víli, finally got himself killed.

The young dwarf beamed openly when the three Men slowed enough to allow his pony to join them, apparently oblivious to the exasperated glare that the Man of Gondor was sending his way. Dwalin sighed and pushed his own pony forward as well, his mouth twitching into a small, unsurprised smile when Bilbo and Fíli casually began to follow him. The burglar and the prince had made no secret of their interest in Kíli's obvious fascination with Illiandur, and it was nearly impossible for Kíli to be within earshot of the Man without either the hobbit or the other dwarf nearby.

"You know, I was wondering earlier," Kíli proclaimed to the three men. "Isn't it very inconvenient for you all to be so tall?"

"What makes you say that, Master Dwarf?" Thengel asked, his brown eyes half-glowing with amusement.

Kíli shrugged and grinned, his enthusiasm apparently unaffected by Aragorn's silence and Illiandur's obvious annoyance.

"Well, you can't hide very well," he informed the horseman. "Dwarves and hobbits can slip into tunnels and corners that Men and Elves are too tall to fit into, and it's easier for us to sneak past things like Orcs, Goblins, and Dragons- they don't tend to look down much, you know, unless they know we're coming-."

"It's hard to _not_ know when dwarves are coming," Illiandur broke in curtly. "You lot are so loud that it's a miracle you can sneak up on anything."

Kíli's beamed at the man's comment, which only seemed to infuriate Illiandur further.

"We're _dwarves_," he chirped, as if that explained everything. "We're _supposed_ to be loud- it strikes fear into the hearts of our enemies. I'm just pointing out that if we wanted to, we'd have an easier time of sneaking past our enemies than taller folk."

"Yes, well, that's assuming that the men in question are actually _tall_," Thengel reflected with a faint smirk. "This may surprise you, Master Dwarf, but there are a few Men who are nearly as small as dwarves- isn't that right, Illiandur Shortarm?"

The warrior of Gondor flushed a brilliant red and fixed Thengel with a glare that should have struck the other man dead. Thengel merely smiled innocently and turned back to Kíli, who was now staring up at Illiandur in obvious awe.

"Are you part dwarf, Master Shortarm?" he asked curiously.

"No, I am _not_," Illiandur growled, his lips curling when he caught sight of Aragorn's barely-restrained smile. The warrior snarled and urged his horse forwards, the hood of his dark cloak falling away for a brief moment to reveal shoulder length, red-gold hair that glowed like a star in the sunlight.

Kíli watched the man go, his smile finally fading into a faint, childish pout. The dark-haired prince stiffened and shot a fiery glare at his brother when Fíli choked back a laugh, his bare cheeks flushing a bright pink.

"What?" he growled.

The heir of Erebor simply shook his head with a small smile.

"Well done, brother," he chuckled.

Kíli snarled something at his brother in Khuzdul and turned away with a huff. Bilbo sighed and moved closer to Kíli, his own lips twitching upwards in a barely-restrained smile.

"Don't listen to your brother," the hobbit whispered loudly. "He's just jealous because he doesn't have anyone to pine over."

Kíli's blush deepened to a spectacular scarlet at Bilbo's words, even as his frown began to morph into a mischievous grin.

"Oh, I can't wait for that," he purred, his smile widening even as the blood started to drain from Fíli's tanned cheeks.

"Aye, an' if it makes ye feel better, laddie, yer much better at flirtin' than Thorin was at yer age," Dwalin broke in. The warrior smirked when Bilbo and Kíli both turned to stare at him in shock. "He could barely open his mouth to breathe, let alone _speak_-."

"If I remember correctly, you weren't much better, Dwalin," Thorin called from behind them.

"Aye, but at least _I've_ improved," the warrior yelled back.

The King Under the Mountain grumbled under his breath and speared Dwalin with an evil look, his lips twisting slightly when he caught sight of the confused, half-envious look on Bilbo's features.

"And… did you… end up speaking to this person that you were so interested in?" the hobbit asked cautiously.

Thorin blinked slowly and opened his mouth, his ears flushing a dark red beneath the Guard's amused gaze.

"Aye, he's _spoken_ to them, alright," Dori said primly. "Whether he's said anything of merit is another matter."

Dwalin heaved a sigh and pulled back to ride between the king and the gentler dwarf, his dark eyes flickering warily between the two in case he needed to stop his oldest friend from murdering their companion. Ori would kill him if he let his eldest brother get murdered before they even reached Lothlórien.

_Ori…_

Dwalin cringed at the thought of the scribe, his thoughts going to the memory of the betrayed look in the other dwarf's eyes when he had shoved past him into the dark halls of Erebor. The war hammer that he had given to Ori shortly after their run in with the goblins was a heavy weight in his back, a constant reminder of the pain that he couldn't quite leave behind.

_He'll understand when we get back_, Dwalin told himself sternly. _Once I can explain everything, let him know that I just wanted to keep him safe… He'll understand._

_ He has to._

A quick, fleeting image crept into Dwalin's mind before he could stop himself: a glimpse of Ori face-to-face with one of the Black Riders that had chased them into the Mirkwood, his slim shoulders trembling beneath the folds of one of his precious cardigans. The warrior shuddered and violently shoved the image away, his heart clenching painfully at the mere thought of the scribe coming anywhere near such a creature.

_He'll understand why I couldn't let him come_, he told himself once again. _He'll understand…_

*Bagginshield*Bagginshield*Bagginshield*

It was easier than Aragorn had expected it to be for him to slip away from Thengel and the dwarves later that evening.

To be fair, the dwarves (and Bilbo, for that matter) developed a single-minded focus when it came time to set up camp, and the intense focus that Bilbo and Dori devoted to the preparation of supper was almost frightening to the ranger. Thengel's unawareness was harder to excuse, although Aragorn would readily admit that it was easy to get distracted by the vibrant energy of seven dwarves and the simple, quiet presence of a hobbit. Legolas alone was watching when Aragorn finally crept away from the warm, merry crackling of Gimli's fire- but, then again, it was nearly impossible to sneak away from an elf.

_It's nearly impossible to sneak up on one, too_, the ranger reflected wryly, his lips curling up into a rare smile as the image of laughing blue eyes framed by serene, ivory features flickered through his thoughts.

_I never could surprise her…_

Illiandur didn't look up when Aragorn sat down beside him on the outskirts of their camp. The man of Gondor had curtly demanded the first watch before anyone had even suggested that the company should stop for the night, and had immediately moved to the farthest edge of the camp the moment the 12 riders had come to a halt near the banks of the River Anduin.

"…I'm fairly certain that young Kíli imagined that he was giving you a compliment when he asked if you were part dwarf, Andur," the ranger murmured.

Illiandur glared at him and turned away with a huff, his calloused fingers curling instinctively around the hilt of his sword.

"I swear by the Valar, I'll gut the next person who brings up that damned conversation," he muttered darkly.

"He didn't mean anything by it," Aragorn continued, blithely ignoring the shorter man's threats. "Dwarves aren't like the men of Gondor, Andur- they appreciate a man for his worth, not for his height."

Pale lips twisted in response to some remembered slight before settling into a stiff, stubborn line. Illiandur growled under his breath and slowly pulled himself to his feet, his eyes narrowing dangerously when he glanced over his shoulder to see that the youngest prince of Erebor was now watching their conversation with obvious interest from the other side of the camp.

"Gods, can't the boy leave me a single moment of peace?" he muttered darkly.

"You could have worse admirers," Aragorn pointed out flatly, his white lips twitching slightly at the half-horrified look that the man of Gondor sent his way in response. "…And I'm not sure that you could really call him a _boy_. Even the youngest member of the dwarven Guard is nearly twice your age."

"What does it matter? I will outlive them," Illiandur snapped, his voice thick with old bitterness.

"I'm not so sure," the ranger murmured. "The average life span of a dwarf is about 250 years. Even men who share the blood that we do can have a hard time living to that age. Honestly, Andur, the dwarven prince may end up being one of the few partners that you _wouldn't_ outlive."

"Is that your advice, then?" Illiandur snapped. "To attach myself to a dwarven youth so that I won't have to worry about watching my beloved die? What, am I too small to find myself an elf?"

Aragorn frowned.

"Leave her out of this," he whispered.

"I will if you leave me alone!" Illiandur hissed. "I'm not here to make friends with dwarven princelings, son of Arathorn."

"Then what are you here for?" Aragorn demanded. "Forgive me, _cousin_, but somehow I don't believe that you left your position in Gondor as a way to reconnect with one of your long-lost relations."

The soldier of Gondor stiffened and shot Aragorn a reproachful glare, his steel-grey eyes briefly vulnerable.

"…I volunteered to escort the heir of Rohan out of concern for his safety," he growled.

"I don't believe you," Aragorn murmured. "Thengel may act like a fool, but you know as well as I do that he is a greater warrior than even Denethor."

Illiandur's eyes narrowed at the mention of the heir to the Steward of Gondor, his lips parting in an instinctive urge to defend his captain. Aragorn held his gaze for a long moment before he glanced back towards the rest of the camp, his eyes lingering on the place where Bilbo and Fíli had now joined Kíli, their tired expressions bright with amusement. Thorin and three of his Guard hovered nearby in deep conversation with Thengel, while Gimli was apparently attempting to demonstrate basic metallurgy to a bemused Legolas.

"I need to know where your loyalties lie, Illiandur," the ranger whispered. "I have come to learn what I must do to assist Middle Earth and the Lady of Lórien in her hour of need- why have you come?"

"Do not preach to me, Ranger," Illiandur snapped, his eyes flashing in defensive anger. "You act like such a selfless man, willing to risk it all for the common good, but I know what you truly want. You're trying to prove yourself, son of Arathorn; you're trying to prove that you can be king." The shorter man leaned forward until his mouth was inches away from Aragorn's ear, shoulders heaving with barely-restrained shouts.

"You aren't ready to be king," he hissed. "Not yet. Show me the man who can lead his people into hell without a moment of doubt and rebuild a broken from ash. _That_ is the man that I will follow, _that_ is the man who I will call my king. Until then, I have no king- I am merely an unwanted pawn who worked his way to the top and will do anything in his power to defend his city."

With that, Illiandur turned and stormed away from the camp towards the plains that spread out behind them, ignoring the questions that were sent his way by the rest of the camp. Aragorn remained by the riverbanks, his mind whirling as he stared out across the roiling waters of the Anduin.

Wait.

The ranger scrambled to his feet, his eyes flickering frantically across the dark waters in search of the disturbance.

"Legolas!" he called, causing even Illiandur to stop in his tracks and turn around.

Within moments, the elf was at Aragorn's side, followed closely by Thengel, Thorin, and Dwalin. Behind them, Bofur, Dori, and Gimli shifted into a makeshift circle around Bilbo, while the princes of Erebor immediately pressed their backs together in preparation for battle. Illiandur drew his sword and silently made his way back towards their mounts and supplies, his bright eyes combing the darkness for any hidden threat.

"What is it?" Thorin demanded sharply.

Aragorn shook his head and motioned for Legolas to come closer.

"Who is coming towards us across the water?" he hissed. "Are they friend or foe?"

The elven prince frowned and carefully inspected the shadows around the river, his shoulders falling infinitesimally in relief before Aragorn could take another breath.

"Elves," he whispered. "They bear the leaves of Lothlórien."

"Fantastic," Dwalin grumbled under his breath. "More elves…"

"Be thankful they are not Orcs," Thengel whispered back.

A high, piercing shriek broke through the night behind them, followed closely by the fierce roars of approaching orcs. Aragorn sighed and glared at the warrior of Rohan. Thengel simply shrugged, his expression sheepish.

"Sorry?" he mouthed as the first of the elven boats scraped against the back.

"Thorin Oakenshield?" one of the elves called out.

"Aye?" Thorin demanded, his sword already ready in his hands.

The elf bowed slightly, his muscles tensing when another cry broke through the air.

"You and your company are to come with me," he informed them. "We will take you to safety."

Thorin frowned, his eyes flickering warily over his shoulder as the shrieking drew closer.

"Take the Halfling and half of my guard," he grunted. "I will stay behind and help to hold them off until you can get to safety."

"I'm afraid that that isn't an option, your majesty," the elf informed him flatly.

Thorin's frown deepened into a fierce glare. "I will not flee before these creatures."

The elf simply stared back, his expression unreadable even as two of his companions leapt from the boat and casually tossed Thorin and Dwalin into the nearest boat as if they were no more than sacks of flour.

"I'm afraid you have no other choice."

**Yay, another chapter up! Again, I am really sorry for the weird updating schedule that's going on- school work is starting to get tougher and more time consuming, and I literally have almost no time to write and it's killing me.**

***Ahem* anyways~ Thanks again to all of the people who have read/reviewed this story- you guys are amazing and keep me going even when I need to stay up until 1 am just to get some writing into my day.**

**So, quick note here: just in case I wasn't very clear, Illiandur and Aragorn are both Númenorean, which means that they can live for a ****very**** long time (according to Tolkien, Aragorn live to be 210 in the normal LotR universe… Of course, who knows how long anyone will live in **_**this**_** version~). Also, if you guys could just offer a few thoughts and/or prayers to both the victims and survivors of 9/11, as well as the students at my old high school? One of the kids from this year's senior class died suddenly, and some of the students at the school are really hurting right now. Also, I have a friend here at college who lost a close relative in 9/11 so… yeah, if it's not too much trouble, I would really appreciate it if you guys could pray or, you know, just give a thought or two to these guys. Thank you again, and have a great week, okay?**


	13. Chapter 13

Ori stared up at the steep, bleak crags surrounding them, his shoulders hunched against the sharp, icy wind that whipped through the pass around them. It was odd, really- for some reason he had expected the wind to die down as the trees of Fangorn thinned into a small strip of trunks, reaching into the rocky passage of the Gap like spindly fingers.

He should have known better, of course. The winds of Ered Luin and the Misty Mountains had been far bitterer than any chill breeze that attacked the brothers during their long trek towards the Gap of Rohan.

Nori had done most of the navigating since their crossing of the Wold to the edge of Fangorn two days ago. The thief had chosen to keep as close to the forest as possible as the two brothers hurried towards bleak, foreboding peaks that made up the southernmost edge of the Misty Mountains. The older dwarf had barely allowed them to stop for longer than an hour or two of rest, and was now huddled beneath one of the few remaining trees, his long nose buried in the weathered folds of their map.

"Ori, come here," he called quietly, his hoarse voice barely audible above the wind.

Ori went to him immediately, his eyes flickering over his shoulder for one last glimpse of the dark peaks.

"What is it?" he asked.

Nori's brow furrowed beneath his tangled, half-spiked auburn hair and he silently traced a small line from the base of the peaks to a tiny black dot nestled into what seemed to be a small valley.

"That's it, aye?" he muttered. "That's what we're aiming for."

Ori craned his neck to get a better view of the map and nodded slowly. "Yes, that's Isengard, according to the map." He frowned. "…Where are we, exactly?"

Nori shrugged and moved his finger to the base of the mountains once again, his features creased in obvious weariness.

"It's at least half a day's march if we stick to the course that we're on," he sighed. "Maybe a day. And that's only if we don't run into Orcs…"

The scribe bit his lip and looked up from the map, his tired eyes searching their surroundings for any approaching danger. Neither of the dwarves had seen any sign of life since their departure from the elves at the Anduin. And while Ori would be the first to admit that it was nice to not have to worry about fighting bloodthirsty creatures every minute of the day, the absence of danger was… unnatural, especially after Ilnir's warnings about a strong Orc presence in the area.

Nori grunted and slowly pulled himself to his feet, his eyes tightening in pain as he slowly stretched his aching muscles.

"Right," he huffed. "Shall we keep moving, then?"

Ori nodded and adjusted the pack on his shoulders. The brothers continued on in silence, their small figures further dwarfed by the towering mountains and trees that surrounded them. All was silent except for the whistling of the wind and the low, harsh breathing of the travelers.

"… Master Scribe?"

Ilnir's knife was clutched in Ori's hand before he could draw a breath. The scribe whirled around barely a second after his brother, the point of his weapon aimed with surprising-steadiness at the chest of a slightly-bemused elf.

"Ilnir," he gasped, his arm lowering automatically the moment he recognized the elf's pale features and glistening silver-gold hair.

The elf of Lothlórien smiled and offered the brothers a short, graceful bow, his motions quickly mirrored by several other elves that seemed to materialize from the trees around them.

"My apologies," the elf murmured. "We did not mean to startle you."

"Yes, well, you did," Nori grumbled, his shoulders slumping in undeniable relief as he slowly sheathed his knives. "What are you doing here? I thought you were going to wait on the other side of the river or go back to your forest."

"We were," another elf replied coolly. "But the Lady Galadriel sent us a message shortly after your departure. Members of your kin were attacked by Nazgûl at the edge of Mirkwood. The Lady feared that you would face similar dangers, and sent us to assist you until you made your journey to Lórien."

"Nazgûl?" Nori repeated sharply. "Were any of them hurt?"

The elf shrugged, his features unreadable in the cool light.

"We received no word of any deaths among them," he replied. "Although, to be fair, we did not ask."

"Other members of our own kin were sent to make sure that your friends made it to Lórien safely," Ilnir broke in before Nori could say anything. "The Lady Galadriel is very concerned about the fate of your kin and the Ringbearer. She will ensure their safety."

Nori studied the elf for a long moment before he nodded jerkily, his lips still pursed in obvious displeasure.

"…I don't suppose you brought horses with you?" he sighed.

"We did not see the need," Ilnir admitted.

Nori nodded slowly and flashed Ori a martyred look, his lips twitching slightly at the scribe's own barely-hidden smile.

"Try and keep up then, elves," he huffed.

Ilnir laughed quietly and quickly fell into step beside Ori and his brother, his grey eyes calm and alert as they scanned the trees around them. The other elves silently fanned out around the trio and disappeared amongst the trees and cliffs of the Gap. Ori didn't see the elves for the remainder of their journey further into the Gap- even the brief pause that Nori and Ilnir allowed them shortly after the sunset remained free of the presence of any of Ilnir's companions. The scribe shrugged and curled up on the hard ground for a brief, precious hour of sleep, his ears unconsciously straining to pick up the hushed words of his companions.

"…And you're sure that none of them were injured?" the thief pressed.

Ilnir seemed to sigh. "As far as I know, neither the Ringbearer, nor any member of his Guard was seriously harmed-."

"_Seriously_ harmed," Nori repeated harshly. "That doesn't rule out any other type of harm."

"Master Dwarf, I can assure you that we will do everything in our power to-."

"Our _family_ is out there, Elf," the thief snarled. "Our elder brother, our king, Ori's beloved, my-." The dwarf paused and cleared his throat, causing Ori's eyes to fly open in shock. The younger dwarf silently wriggled around so as to have a better view of his two companions, his curious gaze meeting Ilnir's half-amused silver eyes for a brief moment before the elf focused once more on the flustered thief.

"Your…?" he prompted quietly.

Nori glared at the elf for a long moment, his hands twitching dangerously towards one of the many knives that were hidden on his person.

"Friends," he grunted. "My friends."

"Ah," Ilnir hummed. "Then, if you will accept my assurances, Master Thief, I swear that my kin and I will do whatever it takes to make sure that you are reunited with your family and your _friends_ after all of this is over. You will see them again in this life, Nori."

Nori started at the elf's use of his actual name. He studied his companion for a long moment, his expression unreadable in the pale moonlight that had managed to filter through the gathering clouds above them.

"I will hold you to that promise," he said finally. "…Ilnir."

Ori felt his lips curve into a wide smile and pulled the folds of his cloak around him once more, his eyelids closing into the deepest sleep that he had experienced in days.

He was shaken awake barely two hours later, his eyes clouded with exhaustion even as he automatically moved to secure his pack to his shoulders and scramble to his feet. Ilnir flashed him a small, patient smile and wordlessly handed him a wafer of travelling bread (what had the elf called it- _lembas_?) before moving on to help a grumbling, weary Nori roll up the maps.

"We're not far from the fortress now," the thief informed them quietly. "If we hurry, we should be able to reach the outer walls before noon-."

Loud, savage screams erupted ahead, their piercing cries slamming into Ori's unsuspecting eardrums like one of Dwalin's warhammers. Ilnir tensed and whipped his bow off of his shoulders, one of his arrows already notched on the string.

"Hide in the trees, quickly," he hissed. "Before they see you."

"Like hell we-," Nori began furiously.

"_Listen_ to me," Ilnir interrupted. "Saruman the White has always been a friend to the elves, but not to dwarves. If he sees either of you, he may believe that something is amiss and attack us, whereas if he believes that I am alone…"

Nori grunted furiously but bit back another protest and allowed his younger brother to drag him back beneath the shadows of the trees. The dwarves quickly scrambled up into the branches, their minds suddenly filled with memories of howling wargs and a slumped, kingly figure half-hidden by burning fire. Ori shuddered and clutched himself closer to his branch, his ears ringing with the screams of creatures that could only be Orcs. Nori was silent and still beside him, his own eyes locked with a furious intensity on the lone figure of Ilnir as the elf strode out into the center of the Gap to meet the arrivals.

A pack of rabid, howling Orcs descended upon him within moments, their grey, hulking bodies filing into a large, sloppy ring around the pale elf. The creatures jeered and screamed at the tense, silent being before them but made no move to attack him, their actions restrained by some unknown power.

Then the voice began to speak.

"Master elf," it cried, seeming to come from the very heights of the mountains and the very depths of the earth all at once. "What brings you this close to Isengard? Surely any business with the Lady of Lórien would have been brought to my attention before she would deign to send a representative?"

Ori shifted at the sound of the voice, momentarily mesmerized by the rich, beautiful, almost gentle quality of its words, the wisdom that seemed to drip from every syllable, begging for someone to hear its meaning and follow it to greatness…

Ilnir seemed unaffected by the voice. The elf lifted his bow ever-so-slightly and slowly turned to take in the enemies around him, his pale eyes combing the hideous ranks for a sign of the voice's source.

"Hail and well met, my lord Saruman the White, wisest of all beings and leader of the Great Council," he greeted carefully. "I come to ask for your assistance in regards to an informal inquiry that has been raised on behalf of my Lady and Queen."

"And what inquiry is this?" the voice demanded, its tones hardening in a way that sent shivers down Ori's spine.

"An inquiry as to the location of Gandalf the Grey, my lord," Ilnir replied frankly. "According to all accounts, Isengard was his last known destination, and he is needed in Lothlórien."

Silence fell over the Gap, unbroken even by the Orcs that had begun to draw closer to Ilnir in an ever-tightening circle. The elf whirled around repeatedly to keep all of them in his sights, his careful façade slipping to reveal something that was almost frantic. Nori sucked in a sharp breath and reached down to grasp two of his knives but Ori didn't move, his entire being waiting breathlessly for the voice's response.

It came in a cry like thunder that rent the air around them and drew darkness down in a thick, choking curtain.

"_Gandalf the Grey is dead_," the voice screamed, and suddenly it wasn't a wise voice at all but a savage one, twisted and torn until it was closer to a beast than a man. "_His body now lies atop Orthanc, where it shall remain until birds and beasts have feasted of its flesh._"

Ilnir reeled back in shock, his bow slipping from his grasp for the briefest of moments.

It was enough.

Ori screamed in horror when an Orc leapt forth and drove its spear through the elf's neck, his wide eyes unable to move from the sight as the elf crumpled onto the ground in a pool of blood that was quickly covered by a writhing mass of black and grey. Another loud, savage cry echoed from the mountain peaks and the depths of the earth, its words sending thrills of horror down Ori's spine.

"There are others… _find them_."

Nori swore and started to scramble down from the branches, his rough fingers tugging roughly, painfully at Ori's arms and shoulders in an attempt to force his brother to move. Ori didn't budge, barely breathed, his eyes still locked on the place where Ilnir used to stand, silently begging the elf to stand up again, to reappear among the Orcs so that the scribe could find him and go to him and _help _him.

"Ori, _move_!" Nori screamed, his voice nearly drowned out by the furious battle cries of a dozen elves as they descended from the treetops and mountain peaks around them, their weapons flashing cruelly in the shadow like spears of lightning. The Orcs screamed in response and ran to meet them in a mob of darkness, their sheer numbers quickly blocking out the elves until only weak flashes of light and righteous fury remained in the darkness.

"_Ori!_" Screams, someone was screaming his name again, someone needed him but Ilnir was dead, and he couldn't help him, he was _useless_ again, and maybe Dwalin was right, he shouldn't have come-.

An Orc found them then, its savage features twisting into a cruel sneer of triumph when it caught sight of the dwarves struggling into the branches of a tree. It lifted something, a dark, cruel bow that made a mockery of Ilnir's, its thick fingers pulling expertly at the string even as Ori watched in mute, helpless horror and Nori howled beneath him.

Suddenly there was movement, and sudden, harsh jostle that would have sent Ori tumbling from his perch if it wasn't for the iron grip that Nori had around his arm. Ori scrambled instinctively for a handhold, his body slipping onto the branch in front of his brother just as a low, nearly inaudible _twang_ rent the air and pain erupted like fire across his shoulders. The scribe fell limply against the rough, _moving_ wood of the branch beneath him, dimly aware of his brother's frantic shouts and the odd, deep throated grumbles of something that wasn't quite human or monstrous at all.

_The eyes were human, though_.

Deep, unfathomnable eyes stared up at him through the branches of the tree, and yet he got the strangest impression that they were a _part_ of the tree as well.

_How odd… Trees with eyes… I'll have to tell Dwalin about this, he won't like it one bit._

Nori was still yelling, his words garbled and unintelligible over the deep humming and the distant, furious yells of Orcs and elves. Distant… odd that they should be so distant, when Ori could have sworn that they were close, too close. This was a battle, they were close to a battle.

Battles were never this quiet.

"Please… help… you've got to help him…. He needs help, you must help him!" Nori screamed. Or, he could have been screaming that… then again, he could have been screaming other words. It was so hard to hear, and now the humming was growing dimmer as well, leaving a dark, empty nothingness in its wake.

_Dwalin… Dwalin, where are you? It's too quiet here, it's too dark…._

"Help… Hoomhuh, yes, help there should be, Master Dwarf, but for whom…." _Such a strange voice, not really a voice, but it is, it's not human where is Dwalin, where is he, I need him._

"We've never harmed you, or your brethren- I have no ax, neither does my brother, he is a _scribe_!" _Nori… Nori's upset… They're always upset… Dwalin's upset, Dwalin was mad and now I've gone and made things worse, haven't I?_

"Please…" _Was Nori crying? No, he never cried, not since Vestri died and I'm not like Vestri, I'm not dying, I __can't__ die, I don't want to…_

The silence thickened around Ori until all around him had faded. The scribe felt himself sigh and felt sleep gather around him, a deeper sleep than any he had yet to face. The dwarf almost welcomed it, his body weary and sore from years and weeks and days of worry and work and toil…

Something bright pierced the darkness, followed almost immediately by a loud, insistent, almost-familiar voice that surrounded Ori and pulled him in, pulled him away, pulled him back…

Darkness died and faded away, only to be replaced by a bright, white light that should have been painful but wasn't, really.

"Ori," a voice called, and it was familiar, somehow, a voice that the scribe had grown used to hearing long ago. It was a voice that had been absent, a voice that brought back memories of cold ground and warm fires, of battles with goblins in the deep and encounters with eagles in the air. It was a voice- it was _his_ voice.

_You…_

Then exhaustion settled in and pulled him away, and Ori knew no more.

**Hey guys! I'm am so, so, so sorry for the delay again but hopefully this makes up for it? Anyways, you all know the drill by now, da? Please let me know if I have totally screwed up someone's character or, you know, anything, and please let me know what you think! Review (please)!**

**Also, quick note on Saruman's voice: in the books, Saruman is described as having the most persuasive voice in existence, which is one of the reasons why he's so powerful since he can manipulate people into doing whatever he wants simply by talking to them. So, basically, what Ori was hearing was Saruman trying to use his power to manipulate Ilnir into telling him everything and all that. I'm not entirely sure what the effects of the voice are on dwarves and elves since Tolkien was never very clear on that (he mostly focused how Men were affected), so I improvised. :3 Anyways, hope ya'll are having a good weekend so far and thanks to all the people who have read/reviewed this so far. Thank you!**


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